Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/157

 The pressure still remains! O blessed couch! For this may'st thou flower early, and the Sun, Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel! Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! More beautiful than whom Alcæus woo'd The Lesbian woman of immortal song! O child of genius! stately, beautiful, And full of love to all, save only me, And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway On to her father's house. She is alone! The night draws on—such ways are hard to hit— And fit it is I should restore this sketch, Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should I yearn To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed The passion that consumes me. Let me haste! The picture in my hand which she has left; She cannot blame me that I follow'd her: And I may be her guide the long wood through