Pursued the flowers that were not with dry bags;

Sole sound aloud the snap of sapless trees,

More sharp than slingstones on hard breastplates hurled.

Back to first chaos tumbled the stopped world,

A nature of gaunt ribs, an earth of crags.

No smile Demeter cast: the gloom she saw,

Well draped her direful musing; for in gloom,

In thicker gloom, deep down the cavern-maw,