Begins to redden with the pulse of blood,
And, from the recognition of the eyes
That now behold me, something I receive
Of man’s incarnate beauty. Thou, as well
Confessest this bright change: across thy cheeks
A faintest wild-rose color comes and goes,
And, on thy proud lips, Phyra, sits a flame!
Oh, we are nearer!—not suffice me now
The touch of marble hands, reliance cold,
And destiny’s pale promises of love;