Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/227

 To the melody, till they flew, Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces Twisted hard in fierce embraces, Like to Furies, like to Graces, Dash'd together in blinding dew: Till, kill'd with some luxurious agony. The nerve-dissolving melody Flutter'd headlong from the sky.

And then I look'd up toward a mountain-tract, That girt the region with high cliff and lawn: I saw that every morning, far withdrawn Beyond the darkness and the cataract, God made Himself an awful rose of dawn, Unheeded: and detaching, fold by fold, From those still heights, and, slowly drawing near, A vapour heavy, hueless, formless, cold, Came floating on for many a month and year, Unheeded: and I thought I would have spoken, And warn'd that madman ere it grew too late: But, as in dreams, I could not. Mine was broken, When that cold vapour touch'd the palace gate.