Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/71

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      I answered not, for the Eastern star grew pale,
      But fled to thee.

                         Thou speakest, but thy words
      Are as the air; I feel them not. Oh, lift
      Thine eyes, that I may read his written soul!

      I lift them, though they droop beneath the load
      Of that they would express; what canst thou see
      But thine own fairest shadow imaged there?

      Thine eyes are like the deep, blue, boundless heaven
      Contracted to two circles underneath
      Their long, fine lashes; dark, far, measureless,
      Orb within orb, and line through line inwoven.

      Why lookest thou as if a spirit passed?

      There is a change; beyond their inmost depth
      I see a shade, a shape: 't is He, arrayed
      In the soft light of his own smiles, which spread
      Like radiance from the cloud-surrounded moon.
      Prometheus, it is thine! depart not yet!
      Say not those smiles that we shall meet again
      Within that bright pavilion which their beams
      Shall build on the waste world? The dream is told.
      What shape is that between us? Its rude hair
      Roughens the wind that lifts it, its regard