Do you doubt me? Wait till night Brings black hours and white delight; Then, as now, your limbs outstretching, Yield yourself to her bewitching. She will bring a book of spells Writ like crabbed oracles; Wherewith necromantic fingers Raise the ghosts of parted singers: Straight your senses will be bound In a net of torrent sound. For it is a silent fountain, Fed by springs from unseen mountain. Till with gestures cabalistic, Crossing, lining figures mystic, (Diagram most mathematic, Simple to these signs erratic,) O'er the seals her quick hands going Loose the rills and set them flowing: Pent up music rushing out Bathes thy spirit all about; Spell-bound nature, freed again, Joyous revels in thy brain. On a mountain-top you stand, Looking o'er a sunny land; Giant forces marching slow, Rank on rank, the great hills go, On and on without a stay, Melting in the blue away. Wondrous light, more wondrous shading; High relief in faintness fading; Branching streams, like silver veins, Meet and part in dells and plains. There a woody hollow lies, Dumb with love, and bright with eyes; Moorland tracks of broken ground Rising o'er, it all around: Traveller climbing from the grove Needs the tender heavens above. "Ah, my pictured life," you cry, "Fading into sea and sky!" Lost in thought that gently grieves you, All the fairy landscape leaves you; Sinks the sadness into rest, Ripple-like on water's breast; Mother's bosom rests the daughter,-- Grief the ripple, Love the water. All the past is strangely blended In a mist of colours splendid, But chaotic as to form, An unfeatured beauty-storm. Wakes within, the ancient mind For a gloriousness defined: As she sought and knew your pleasure,-- Wiling with a dancing measure, Underneath your closed eyes She calls the shapes of clouded skies; White forms flushing hyacinthine Twine in curvings labyrinthine; Seem with godlike graceful feet, For such mazy motion meet, To press from air each lambent note, On whose throbbing fire they float; With an airy wishful gait On each others' motion wait; Naked arms and vesture free Fill up the dance of harmony. Gone the measure polyhedral! Springs aloft a high cathedral; Every arch, like praying arms Upward flung in love's alarms, Knit by clasped hands o'erhead, Heaves to heaven the weight of dread. Underneath thee, like a cloud, Gathers music, dim not loud, Swells thy bosom with devotion, Floats thee like a wave of ocean; Vanishes the pile away,-- In heaven thou kneelest down to pray.