⁠Sobbing low, each to each, "His fair eyes cannot see us!"—
Their wail strikes more shrill than the sadder Dione's;
The Fates mourn aloud for Adonis, Adonis,
Deep chanting! he hears not a word that they say:
⁠He would hear, but Persephone has him in keeping.
—Cease moan, Cytherea—leave pomps for to-day,
⁠And weep new when a new year refits thee for weeping.