Such pearly tears, that in his bursting heart
Grew up strange hopes. Alas! to few is given
The magic skill that burns in life-like hues,
A speaking lip, an eye that beams and loves,
A moving majesty like nature’s own,
Save that this may not die: it is a gift
Higher and holier than a common man
May dare to reach at; oh! by what right, then,
Dared he to dream of it? by what right! Love’s!—
The love that lifts a peasant to a king,