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If it be a spirit, then the bridge wilt bear it safely; if it be woman "But I dismiss the thought. If it be human thing, why does it sit gazing at me, never speaking? why does my tongue refuse to question it? why does all power forsake me in its presence, so that I stand as in a dream? Yet if it be spirit, why do I hear the passing of her feet? and why does the night-rain glisten on her hair?
Purcell is singing in the drawing-room." "Through lonely summers, where the roses blow Unsought, and shed their tangled sweets, I sit and hark, or in the starry dark, Or when the night-rain on the hill-side beats. "Alone! But when the eternal summers flow And refluent drown in song all moan, Thy soul shall waste for its delight, and haste Through heaven. And I shall be no more alone!"
Objects before perceived with difficulty, now glimmered ambiguously. Bedded in strange vapors, the great foot-light cast a dubious, half demoniac glare across the waters, like the phantasmagoric stream sent athwart a London flagging in a night-rain from an apothecary's blue and green window.
It told of measureless winds and waters of the distances, the stars, the day, the night-rain sweeping down dew dropping gently the hundred kinds of birds-the thousand animals and creeping things and of man, who is lord of all of them, and woman, who is lord of man man setting naked foot on naked earth and glorying with the thrill of life, new, good, and wonderful.
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