Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/43

 That tremble round a nightingale—in sighs Which perfect Joy, perplex'd for utterance, Stole from her sister Sorrow. Might I not tell Of difference, reconcilement, pledges given, And vows, where there was never need of vows, And kisses, where the heart on one wild leap Hung tranced from all pulsation, as above The heavens between their fairy fleeces pale Sow'd all their mystic gulfs with fleeting stars; Or while the balmy glooming, crescent-lit, Spread the light haze along the river-shores, And in the hollows; or as once we met Unheedful, though beneath a whispering rain Night slid down one long stream of sighing wind, And in her bosom bore the baby, Sleep. But this whole hour your eyes have been intent On that veil'd picture—veil'd, for what it holds May not be dwelt on by the common day. This prelude has prepared thee. Raise thy soul Make thine heart ready with thine eyes: the time Is come to raise the veil.