And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow—325
A living Image, which did far surpass
In beauty that bright shape of vital stone
Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.
xxxvi
It seemed to have developed no defect330
Of either sex, yet all the grace of both,—
In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked;
The bosom swelled lightly[1] with its full youth.
The countenance was such as might select
Some artist that his skill should never die,335
Imaging forth such perfect purity.
xxxvii
Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere,
Tipped with the speed of liquid lightenings[2],
Dyed in the ardours of the atmosphere:340
She led her creature to the boiling springs
Where the light boat was moored, and said: 'Sit here!'
And pointed to the prow, and took her seat
Beside the rudder, with opposing feet.
xxxviii
Around their inland islets, and amid 346
The panther-peopled forests, whose shade cast
Darkness and odours, and a pleasure hid
In melancholy gloom, the pinnace passed;
By many a star-surrounded pyramid350
Of icy crag cleaving the purple sky,
And caverns yawning round unfathomably.
xxxix
With slanted gleam athwart the forest tops,
Tempered like golden evening, feebly fell; 355
A green and glowing light, like that which drops
From folded lilies in which glow-worms dwell,
When Earth over her face Night's mantle wraps;
Between the severed mountains lay on high,
Over the stream, a narrow rift of sky.360
xl
With folded wings and unawakened eyes;
And o'er its gentle countenance did play
The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies,