She noted that the small irradiant wings,
That from his shoulders lay along at rest,
Were yet disturb’d with airy quiverings,
As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest;
She feared he was awaking, but they kept
Their sweet commotion still, and still he slept,
And still she gazed with never-tiring zest.
23
And now the colour of her pride and joy
Outflush’d the hue of Eros; she, so cold,