CLYTEMNESTRA
Re-entering from the house
To morrow . . . ay, what if to day? . . . Well—then?
Why, if those tongues of flame, with which last night
The land was eloquent, spoke certain truth,
By this perchance thro' green Saronic rocks
Those black ships glide . . . perchance . . . well, what's to fear?
'Twere well to dare the worst—to know the end—
Die soon, or live secure. What's left to add
To years of nights like those which I have known?
Shall I shrink now to meet one little hour
Which I have dared to contemplate for years?
By all the Gods, not so! The end crowns all,
Which if we fail to seize, that's also lost
Which went before: as who would lead a host
Thro' desolate dry places, yet return
Edward Robert Lytton Bulwer-Lytton
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