Their curses came to his ears like little twittering cries. 

TOGETHER. 
Whenever he moored at an island for water or food or rest,
Soon those wraiths of the dead would rise and bid him begone,
To harry the resting gannet out of the roller’s crest,
And carry the curse of his soul to the unknown, on and on. 

FOURTH CHORUS MOON-BLOSSOM. 
In the grey of morning
When the stars were paling,
Nireus sailing,
Saw land ahead.
An island shining
With city towers,
Where bells were ringing
And men singing. 

ROSE-FLOWER. 
As Nireus stepped ashore there
He stood staring,
For all men there
Were the dead of the war:
The Greeks and Trojans,
Beautiful and swift,
Killed in the trampled tamarisks
Beneath Troy town. 

MOON-BLOSSOM. 
Stars were in their hair,
Their brows were crowned with violets,
They stepped like stags,
Comrade with comrade.
They had forgotten
The mud and death,
The heat and flies
Of the plain of Troy. 

ROSE-FLOWER. 
There among them

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