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'Why does my Theotormon sit weeping upon the threshold?
'And Oothoon hovers by his side persuading him in vain!
'I cry, Arise, O Theotormon! for the village dog
'Barks at the breaking day; the nightingale has done lamenting;
'The lark does rustle in the ripe corn; and the Eagle returns
'From nightly prey, and lifts his golden beak to the pure east,
'Shaking the dust from his immortal pinions, to awake
'The sun that sleeps too long! Arise, my Theotormon; I am pure!
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'Ask the wild ass why he refuses burdens; and the meek camel
'Why he loves man. Is it because of eye, ear, mouth, or skin,
'Or breathing nostrils? No: for these the wolf and tiger have.
'Ask the blind worm the secrets of the grave; and why her spires
'Love to curl round the bones of death: and ask the ravenous snake
'Where she gets poison; and the winged eagle, why he loves the sun:
'And then tell me the thoughts of man that have been hid of old!
'Silent I hover all the night, and all day could be silent,
'If Theotomion once would turn his loved eyes upon me;
'How can I be defiled, when I reflect thy image pure?
'Sweetest the fruit that the worm feeds on; and the soul prey'd on by woe.
'The new washed lamb ting'd with the village smoke and the bright swan
'By the red earth of our immortal river: I bathe my wings,
'And I am white and pure, to hover round Theotormon's breast.'
Then Theotormon broke his silence, and he answered:—
'Tell me what is the night or day to one o'erflow'd with woe?
'Tell me what is a thought? and of what substance is it made?
'Tell me what is a joy; and in what gardens do joys grow;
'And in what rivers swim the sorrows; and upon what mountains
'Wave shadows of discontent? And in what houses dwell the wretched,
'Drunken with woe forgotten, and shut up from cold despair?
'Tell me where dwell the thoughts forgotten till thou call them forth?
'Tell me where dwell the joys of old, and where the ancient loves?
'And when they will renew again, and the night of oblivion pass?
'That I may traverse times and spaces far remote, and bring
'Comforts into a present sorrow, and a night of pain.'
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