And nightingales, in ecstasy of pain,
Did break their hearts with singing the old joys.
IX.
"Is this the spot?" I cried, "is this the spot
Where I must tell thee all my heart's desire?
Is this the time when I must drink the fire,
And eat the snow, and find it fever-hot?
I freeze with heat, and yet I fear it not;
And all my pulses thrill me like a lyre."
X.