And for those others, strangers here with her,
Who from the border of MacPherson’s grove,
In their own forms, were watching.
Hermes leaned
Like none but Hermes, graceful as the grass,
On a slim sapling, serpent-shaped, and said:
“She flaunts us. Aphrodite is not Ares,
She is not schooled in victory and defeat,
She is not skilful at surrender—save
The lover’s kind. See? She is bent on that.