From "Proteus"
Golden Aurora had drawn away the shadows; she had hidden the falling stars with the rose-red glow of her face. Then the sun, lifting his chariot from the eastern foam, revealed the great world with his lustrous torch.
Suddenly Proteus rose from the Adriatic waves; and then came Cymothea, shaking free her yellow hair, Hyale, Arethusa, white of arm — Nereids marvelling at the poet.
Like the wind upon the shore, they plucked dark berries, pale violets, and soft hyacinths; and then they gathered about him, beseeching his song.
And Proteus, sitting in the midst, bade the seas calm their high murmur and the winds of Æolus their sounding blasts. At his bidding the waters were still and the winds of Auster. Then he sang. . . .
Suddenly Proteus rose from the Adriatic waves; and then came Cymothea, shaking free her yellow hair, Hyale, Arethusa, white of arm — Nereids marvelling at the poet.
Like the wind upon the shore, they plucked dark berries, pale violets, and soft hyacinths; and then they gathered about him, beseeching his song.
And Proteus, sitting in the midst, bade the seas calm their high murmur and the winds of Æolus their sounding blasts. At his bidding the waters were still and the winds of Auster. Then he sang. . . .
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