Surely the air will sound.” Apollo hummed,
Remembering the barn dance and the moon.
“Did you hear anything to prove a presence?”
Artemis, her green robe gilded suddenly
By the first beams of sun, was angry still.
“She heard but her own hatefulness, that plotted
Death.”
“I left the living in your hands—
Yours, and the mighty angel’s. If you erred,
Darling of fawns and virgins, I regret,