Sing on, O little voice: She cannot hear; There is a pact between us.
Now I stand
And feel her eyes' soft element within,
Upon, around me, melting away life
Into these few full throbbing moments.—Lo!
Her tears again—her disavowal clean
Of any thought of falseness. Lo! her words—
I might have lived beside her all these days
In perfect joy; words, blandishments and tears
Already staggering me with their old might
Of coiling fascinations; and one tear
A drop that, falling straight into my heart,
Fills it too full for speaking a long time
The ready thing of pardon and of love.
See! am I Lord here?—This fair sight of Her,
Working the whole impassioned prodigy
As 'twere of all her beauty, just to win
Me this time and, at any cost, be queen
Of this one present, as of many pasts—
Hath ever it been fairer, more complete?
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