Page:Agamemnon (1877) Browning.djvu/112

96 But for myself remains a sundering

With spear, the two-edged thing!

Whence hast thou this on-rushing god-involving pain

And spasms in vain?

For, things that terrify,

With changing unintelligible cry

Thou strikest up in tune, yet all the while

After that Orthian style!

Whence hast thou limits to the oracular road,

That evils bode?

Ah me, the nuptials, the nuptials of Paris, the deadly to friends!