The Wife of Plutus, by George Frederic Watts
In this battle we do not hold
a shield in front of us.
When we turn in sama,
we do not hear the flute or the tambourine.
Underneath these feet we become
nazar, the guide's glance,
ashes, wanderers,
as the moon diminishes,
until it is gone for a few days,
to come back changed.
Send for the planet Venus to play here.
Flute, drum, and strings are not enough.
No. Who but these musicians
could stand the beat that melts the sun?
