Of Humber, glared the fiery spears and shields
Of all his knights!—when the Five Kings went down!
In the wild hurl of onset overthrown....
But thy white presence, like the moon, has sown
This room with calm; and all the storm in me,
The tempest of my soul, dies utterly.
So let me feel thy hand upon my cheek.
And speak! I love thy voice: belovéd, speak."
"Thou lov'st a thing of air, fond Accolon!
Is thy love then so spiritual? Nay! anon