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3. She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, No further than to where his feet had stray'd, And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow’d head seem'd list’ning to the Earth, His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.
It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay’d Ixion's wheel.
As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words and went; the while in tears She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her falling hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. One moon, with alteration slow, had shed Her silver seasons four upon the night, And still these two were postured motionless, Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern; The frozen God still couchant on the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake, As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: “O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, “Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; “Look up, and let me see our doom in it; “Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape “Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice “Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, “Naked and bare of its great diadem, “Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power “To make me desolate? whence came the strength? “How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, “While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp? “But it is so; and I am smother'd up, “And buried from all godlike exercise “Of influence benign on planets pale, “Of admonitions to the winds and seas, “Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, “And all those acts which Deity supreme “Doth ease its heart of love in. —I am gone