But to the Leontines——
Dion. O, go not back
To read the bloodprints of bewildered feet.
Now as the soft life-wooing breath that moves
So swift upon the track of orient storms
That ere the woeful people dry their tears
Earth is new-clad in garments of the sun
And balm is in the air like blessings winged,
Fanning delight in every lifted cheek,
So treads this hour at heel of flying woe.