Nor rests she till she finds him.
Ara. Sister Isis!
Aris. And then—none knows how hid in solitude
She suckles death with life till he new rises
The God of All, too great for pride, too just
For death; the sire of Beauty, breathing Life
Through Love,—soul of the nurturing sun—
The mother-breast of fields—the parent thrill
Of birds, of trees, of flowers—of all that makes
Most sweet the fair world's mortal pageantry,—