‘Or the faint morning beams that fell among
The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees;
And her feet, ever to the ceaseless song _375
‘Of leaves, and winds, and waves, and birds, and bees,
And falling drops, moved in a measure new
Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze,
‘Up from the lake a shape of golden dew
Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, _380
Dances i’ the wind, where never eagle flew;
‘And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune
To which they moved, seemed as they moved to blot
The thoughts of him who gazed on them; and soon
‘All that was, seemed as if it had been not; _385
And all the gazer’s mind was strewn beneath
Her feet like embers; and she, thought by thought,
‘Trampled its sparks into the dust of death
As day upon the threshold of the east
Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath _390
‘Of darkness re-illumine even the least
Of heaven’s living eyes—like day she came,
Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased
‘To move, as one between desire and shame
Suspended, I said—If, as it doth seem, _395
Thou comest from the realm without a name
‘Into this valley of perpetual dream,
Show whence I came, and where I am, and why—
Pass not away upon the passing stream.
‘Arise and quench thy thirst, was her reply. _400
And as a shut lily stricken by the wand
Of dewy morning’s vital alchemy,