Mezzo Forte
Take that, damn you; and that!
And here's a rose
To make it right again!
God knows
I'm sorry, Grace; but then,
It's not my fault if you will be a cat.
An After Song
So art thou broken in upon me, Apollo,
Through a splendour of purple garments—
Held by the yellow-haired Clymène
To clothe the white of thy shoulders—
Bare from the day's leaping of horses.
This is strange to me, here in the modern twilight.