If these offend thee; and forgive me, too,
If I perceive, within thine eyes of blue,
More than I utter—more than, in eclipse,
A man may note atween the argent tips
Of frighted Dian whom the Fates pursue.
VIII.
It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the thing
We know as rapture, when, with sudden thrill,
It snares the heart and subjugates the will;
I mean the pride, the power, by which we cling