Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/330

Rh I feared to jingle bells upon my robe Before the four-faced silent cherubim; With God so near me, could I sing of God? I did not write, nor read, nor even think, But sate absorbed amid the quickening glooms, Most like some passive broken lump of salt Dropt in by chance to a bowl of œnomel, To spoil the drink a little, and lose itself, Dissolving slowly, slowly, until lost.