[Celix-directorio] Rt, To decorate this favorite cave anew; An

Simonson sobs at casadogalo.com
Sun Aug 23 21:32:36 CEST 2009

 sweetness, and his fiery eyes Grown humid, as he fixed them on the
Queen In soft entreaty. From her lofty brow, So pale and passive, had
the shadow rolled, As slightly and unconsciously she bent To his quick
utterance. A sudden ray Stole from the twilight of her deepening eyes,
And a warm redness into either cheek, Troubling its cold repose, shot
quickly up. A moment of suspense, and then she spoke: "'Tis true that I
thy body might restore, Since but suspension of its human powers, And
not its loss or injury, I control. But what assurance have I that this
boon May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we, With all our vast
machinery and weird powers Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not--
And that is--SOUL. A soul and body, too, Might circumvent us--work us
desperate harm;-- At least 'tis wise to fear the things unknown, And to
be chary how we give them scope. As long as thy body's powers restrain,
Thy spirit to my will in bondage is; Thou hast no wherewithal to make
ado-- No weapon at thy service--art a slave,-- And shall I give to thee
a master's place? Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought. What is
this love of which you mortals tell?-- Which puts such tender sweetness
in your tones Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn Upon
each other such delighted eyes? Your words have stirred strange pleasure
in my heart: I, too, would know what love is. I command That thou shalt
teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl Return, uninjured, to her southern
bowers; Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore. Perchance, in
finding Love, I'll gain a soul, And learn of immortality; and all The
vague, sad intuitions that now mock me, Make real, and I become what I
have dreamed. Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have, Thy
body and thy freedom, and a place, The highest of my chieftains. Follow
me!" These ominous words of the enamored Queen, Spoken as though she
knew not what it was That one should think of disobedience, Poor OLIVE
heard, with looks of agony Fixed on the speaker's face--that Northern
face, Wild in its power and in its beauty weird. The starry halo of that
tintless crown, The midnight blackness of her plentiful hair, Set off
the splendor of the countenance On which the maiden bent her pale
-------------- next part --------------
A non-text attachment was scrubbed...
Name: dariole.jpg
Type: image/jpeg
Size: 9836 bytes
Desc: not available
Url : /pipermail/celix-directorio/attachments/20090823/6a7d523a/dariole.jpg

More information about the Celix-directorio mailing list