Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley).djvu/72

58 His mother's harp stood near, and oft I had awakened music soft Amid its wires: the nightingale Was pausing in her heaven-taught tale: "Now drain the cup," said Lionel, "Which the poet-bird has crowned so well With the wine of her bright and liquid song! Heardst thou not sweet words among That heaven-resounding minstrelsy? Heardst thou not, that those who die Awake in a world of extacy? That love, when limbs are interwoven, And sleep, when the night of life is cloven, And thought, to the world's dim boundaries clinging, And music, when one beloved is singing, Is death? Let us drain right joyously The cup which the sweet bird fills for me." He paused, and to my lips he bent His own: like spirit his words went Through all my limbs with the speed of fire; And his keen eyes, glittering through mine,