XXXVI.

I fall, I swoon! I look at the sky. The clouds are breaking on my brain I am floated along, as if I should die Of liberty's exquisite pain. In the name of the white child waiting for me In the death-dark where we may kiss and agree, White men, I leave you all curse-free In my broken heart's disdain!

_THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN._

~"Pheu, pheu, ti prosderkesthe m' ommasin, tekna?"~

--Medea.