Page:A lover's tale (Tennyson, 1879).djvu/68

64 Upon the morrow, thro' the ragged walls, All unawares before his half-shut eyes, Comes in upon him in the dead of night, And with the excess of sweetness and of awe, Makes the heart tremble, and the sight run over Upon his steely gyves; so those fair eyes Shone on my darkness, forms which ever stood Within the magic cirque of memory, Invisible but deathless, waiting still The edict of the will to reassume The semblance of those rare realities Of which they were the mirrors. Now the light Which was their life, burst through the cloud of thought Keen, irrepressible.

Within the summer-house of which I spake,