Dia. Ah, maidens, here's a tale
For the other ear.
Pyrr. The bare and brazen sun
That's up without a cloud, cheers to the hunt,
The fight, the bruited path,—makes careful dames
Send linen to the ford, and say "Zeus grant,
We'll air the beds!"
Nac. Ay, wives must know their season.
Pyrr. But let night-swimming Morn come up
In foamy veil, and her priest-hearted rose
Stays lusty feet and gives adventure's hour
To the achieving soul.
Art. What kin is this
To th' matter?
Pyrr. Why, Artante, when we dance
Half naked as we do before the youths,
They say of us "A bed-mate there, and strong
To bear and breed brave warriors for my house."
But they in Athens who so watch the dance,
See sheatheless Being shine through form that would,
Not softened thus, first fill the ruder eye
And leave unseen the token of a grace
Earth may not shadow.
Dia. Nay, you speak Athenian!
Let's have it in our tongue.
Nac. What grace can be
So badgered in a gown?
Pyrr. Ask flying doves,
That rhythm the air till it doth ache with loss
When they have passed. So have these maidens taught
The silken fold to be their wingèd part.
Myr. Ask her no more. Alack, our Pyrrha drank
Of charmed Ilissus,—must go back to Athens!