Page:Electra of Euripides (Murray 1913).djvu/32

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Yea, riven with the fire of woe.

I sigh to look on thee.

My face; and, lo,

My temples of their ancient glory shorn.

Methinks thy brother haunts thee, being forlorn;

Aye, and perchance thy father, whom they slew

What should be nearer to me than those two?

And what to him, thy brother, half so dear

As thou?

His is a distant love, not near

At need.

But why this dwelling place, this life

Of loneliness?

Stranger, I am a wife

O better dead!