And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air
That would not move the purple down of clouds.
To so great compass now my horror grows
That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood
'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life
Still mourning in them. I am still for fear
Another world will crumble as I stir.
Aris. Move, Aratea! Speak!
Ara. Dost hear that sound?
It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods