Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/139

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      Of its white robe, woof of ethereal pearl,
      Its hair is white, the brightness of white light
      Scattered in strings; yet its two eyes are heavens
      Of liquid darkness, which the Deity
      Within seems pouring, as a storm is poured
      From jagged clouds, out of their arrowy lashes,
      Tempering the cold and radiant air around
      With fire that is not brightness; in its hand
      It sways a quivering moonbeam, from whose point
      A guiding power directs the chariot's prow
      Over its wheelèd clouds, which as they roll
      Over the grass, and flowers, and waves, wake sounds,
      Sweet as a singing rain of silver dew.

      And from the other opening in the wood
      Rushes, with loud and whirlwind harmony,
      A sphere, which is as many thousand spheres;
      Solid as crystal, yet through all its mass
      Flow, as through empty space, music and light;
      Ten thousand orbs involving and involved,
      Purple and azure, white, green and golden,
      Sphere within sphere; and every space between
      Peopled with unimaginable shapes,
      Such as ghosts dream dwell in the lampless deep;
      Yet each inter-transpicuous; and they whirl