Is hung so thick with stars—to feel as I,
That I have found the twin life which the gods
Retained when mine was fashioned, and must turn
To what so late was strange, as the flower turns
To the sun; ay, though he withers her, or clouds
Come 'twixt her and her light, turns still to him.
And only gazing lives.
Asan.
Thou perfect woman!
And art thou, then, all mine? What have I done,