At the seventh line a great break is indicated by a dash. The speaker seems to be going on to say: "The memory I started at must have been the greatest event of your life." But as he notes the action of the other, the contemptuous smile at his enthusiasm, perhaps a sarcastic remark about Shelley, there is a sudden, abrupt pause after "started at" which is given with a rising or suspensive inflection. "My starting" has extreme change in pitch, color, and movement. Astonishment is mingled with disappointment and grief. Then follows a still greater transition. In the last eight lines of the poem, the speaker, after a long pause, possibly turning slightly away from the other and becoming more subjective, in a slow movement and a total change of tone-color, pays a noble, poetic, and grateful tribute to the object of his admiration. He carefully weighs every word, and accentuates his thought with long pauses, and decided touches upon the words. He gives "moor" a long falling inflection, pausing after it to suggest that he meant more than a moor, possibly all modern or English literature or poetry. He adds "... with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt," as a reference to English poetry or literature and to show that he was not ignorant of its beauties and glories. Still stronger emphasis should be given to "hand's-breadth," with a pause after it, subordinating the next words, for he is trying to bring his listener indirectly up to the thought of Shelley. "Miles" may also receive an accent in contrast to "hand's-breadth." Then there is great tenderness: "For there I picked up ..." Note the change in the resonance of the voice and the low and dignified movement. There is a long inflection, followed by a pause on the word "feather" and a still longer one on the word "eagle." Now follows another extreme transition. Thought and feeling change. He comes back to the familiarity of conversation. He shows uncertainty or hesitation by inflection and a long pause after the word "Well." He has no word of disparagement of other writers, but simply adds, "Well, I forget the rest." All else is forgotten in contemplating that one precious "feather" which is, of course, Shelley's poetry.