Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley, Forman).djvu/50

48 So pale, that even beside his cheek The snowy column from its shade Caught whiteness: yet his countenance Raised upward, burned with radiance Of spirit-piercing joy, whose light, Like the moon struggling through the night Of whirlwind-rifted clouds, did break With beams that might not be confined. I paused, but soon his gestures kindled New power, as by the moving wind The waves are lifted, and my song To low soft notes now changed and dwindled, And from the twinkling wires among, My languid fingers drew and flung Circles of life-dissolving sound, Yet faint: in aery rings they bound My Lionel, who, as every strain Grew fainter but more sweet, his mien Sunk with the sound relaxedly; And slowly now he turned to me, As slowly faded from his face That awful joy: with looks serene He was soon drawn to my embrace, And my wild song then died away In murmurs: words I dare not say We mixed, and on his lips mine fed Till they methought felt still and cold: "What is it with thee, love?" I said: