Soft as they listened, never the good sound
Of hooves, of whirring felloes.
Long they looked
And listened; then were back in Bruce’s dooryard,
Signalling their presence; so that Artemis,
Stooping at the window, saw them desolate,
And knew herself defeated.
“Aphrodite!”
She only thought the word, but Dora stared
And begged of her: “Has someone—has he come?