Hyperion to Diotima
You should have soothed me, my Diotima! should have told me not to rush, told me to wrest from fate the victory bit by bit, as one does from tight debtors their dues. O maiden! standing still is worst of all. My blood dries up in my veins, so do I thirst to advance, and have to stand here idle, have to besiege and besiege day in and day out. Our people want to storm, but that would inflame their restive spirits beyond all temperance, and then woe to our hopes if the savage being seethes up and bursts the bonds of discipline and love.
I don’t know, it can only be a matter of days before Mistra must surrender, but I wish we were further forward. Here in the camp it’s
like being in storm-laden air. I’m impatient, and I’m not happy with my men. There’s a frightening wantonness amongst them.
But I’m silly to make so much of my mood. And it’s surely worth enduring a worry or two for ancient Lacedaemon before it’s won.