In the olive darkness of the sally-treessilently moved the air from night to day.
The summer-grass was thick with honey daisieswhere he, a curled god, a red Jupiter,heavy with power among his women lay.
But summer's bubble-sound of sweet creek-waterdwindles and is silent, the seeding grassesgrow harsh, and wind and frost in the black salliesroughen the sleek-haired slopes.
Seek him out, then,the angry god betrayed, whose godhead passes,and down the hillsides drive him from his mob.
What enemy steals his strength - what rival stealshis mastered cows?
His thunders powerless,the red storm of his body shrunk with fear,runs the great bull, the dogs upon his heels.
