In mere felicity above the world
In peace alive and moving, where to stir
Is ecstasy, and thrilling is repose,[112]
immortal, scattering joy without intermission, lighting the world, bringing bliss to struggling men and sorrowing women, dispelling shadows and shadowy fear.
Then Idas, humbly,—
"After such argument what can I plead?
Or what pale promise make? Yet since it is
In women to pity rather than to aspire,
A little will I speak."
And he tells her simply that he loves her,—loves her not only for her beauty, but
"Because Infinity upon thee broods;
And thou art full of whispers and of shadows;—"
and because her voice is music, her face mystery beyond his power to comprehend;
"O beauty lone and like a candle clear
In this dark country of the world! Thou art
My woe, my early light, my music dying."
And Marpessa?—