Standing ‘upon a shore, a pleasant shore’, Clymene breathes the ‘sweet clime’ of another place, a land Of fragrance, quietness, and trees and flowers. Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief; Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth; So that I felt a movement in my heart To chide, and to reproach that solitude With songs of misery, music of our woes (2. 264–69)