Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/132

 "Is there not wrought a madness in thy brain Each time my thin veils part and close again— Each time their flying ring Is seen a moment's space encircling me With filmy changes—each time, rapidly Rolled down, their cloud-like gauzes billowing  About my limbs they fling?

"Ah, seek not in this moment some cold will; Attend to no false pratings that would kill Thy heart, and make thee fall: But now a little lean to me, and fear My charming. Ah, thy fame to me is dear! Some wound of mine, when me thou couldst not call,  Might slay thee after all.

"For even while I sing, the unseen grace Of Love descending hath filled all this place With most strong prevalence; His miracle is raging in the breasts Of all these men, and mightily he rests On me and thee. His power is too intense,  No curse shall drive him hence.