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      'Tis scarce like sound; it tingles through the frame
      As lightning tingles, hovering ere it strike.
      Speak, Spirit! from thine inorganic voice
      I only know that thou art moving near
      And love. How cursed I him?

THE EARTH
                                   How canst thou hear
      Who knowest not the language of the dead?

PROMETHEUS
      Thou art a living spirit; speak as they.

THE EARTH
      I dare not speak like life, lest Heaven's fell King
      Should hear, and link me to some wheel of pain
      More torturing than the one whereon I roll.
      Subtle thou art and good; and though the Gods
      Hear not this voice, yet thou art more than God,
      Being wise and kind: earnestly hearken now.

PROMETHEUS
      Obscurely through my brain, like shadows dim,
      Sweep awful thoughts, rapid and thick. I feel
      Faint, like one mingled in entwining love;
      Yet 't is not pleasure.

THE EARTH
                               No, thou canst not hear;
      Thou art immortal, and this tongue is known
      Only to those who die.

PROMETHEUS
                              And what art thou,
      O melancholy Voice?