Deep in the lurking shadows of the woods,
Down vistas gold-flecked from the sunlight glare
The Satyrs fast pursue the Oreads.
Clutching their virgin breasts and flying hair,
Bending their gleaming bodies, tense with fear,
Swift backward on the damp moss. Half divine,
Writing with pain....
O Women!
On your soft lips, Eros cries
Desires and agonies.'
'Eros! Eros!'

'Cybele long pursues across the plains
The godlike Attis whom her love desires,
The fleeting Attis who her love disdains
For Eros, like a cruel god, conspires
To chill return where burning love aspires,
And, in despair, through Attis halting breath,
Cybele weaves of death....
Slaying with tortured cries,
Desires and agonies....'
'Eros! Eros!'

'Before the Goat-foot, over the flowery meads-
Toward the water tomb, frail Syrinx speeds,
Shuddering at Eros' kiss upon her cheek-
Eros who, later, culls the trembling reeds,
Caresses them and, living, makes them speak
For he who conquers Gods, who death disdains-
Pale Eros-reigns....
O women!
From a dead soul, Eros cries
Desires and agonies.'