Yea of the eternal, vital glow that throbs
Within humanity's deep-rubied heart.
So runs the myth, dear Aratea.
Ara. Ah!
How runs the rubric of thy thought that sets
The symbol plain? Read that to me, I pray thee.
Aris. The lonely mind may not uprafter stars,
And vain, adventurous man who of himself
Createth Heaven must see it fall. Then doth
The woman spirit, girdle of the worlds,