Beauty, stay with me! I said.
Beauty said: Don’t be afraid.
How shall I cope with this whirlwind? What does it know of surfeit, satiety?
I’m too old, compared to his twenty or twenty-two. He may have a woman of his own, a country girl, a young, simple, laughing slip of a thing who satisfies him.
In my dream I saw him at the prow of his boat, talking with Kleis.
I should send her to Andros.
I need to go to Andros, myself!
I must seek Alcaeus...he must help me...
I see Phaon in his bed, his young arms, his young legs, his close-cropped hair, blue eyes, smooth face.
Like a storm punishing the olives, love shakes me.