Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/50

46 Speak not; whisper not; I know all that ye would tell, But to speak might break the spell Which must bend the Invincible, The stern of thought; He yet defies the deepest power of Hell.

Tear the veil!

It is torn.

The pale stars of the morn Shine on a misery, dire to be borne. Dost thou faint, mighty Titan? We laugh thee to scorn. Dost thou boast the clear knowledge thou waken'dst for man? Then was kindled within him a thirst which outran Those perishing waters; a thirst of fierce fever,