_Aris._ And Heaven's all-greater Lord, Who gives us souls that we may love all beauty, And gives us beauty that our souls may love it, I swear thee mine! _Ara._ Your oath--your oath to Dion! _Aris._ Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let A mock-enthron�d custom speak to God? An atom fettered with nice consequence Bar up the gates of love that are as wide As His earth-belting arms? _Ara._ No pity, none. _Aris._ My heart, say thou wilt come. _Ara._ 'Tis death. _Aris._ 'Tis life! Come now, O now, else are we cast apart Far as the dismal Night heaves her vast sigh, Far as the laboring Chaos breathing blows,-- Perchance to hurl eternally about The farthest stars that from oppos�d heavens Dart fiery scouts that die ere they have met, So long their journey is. Or, gloomier fate, Condemn�d sit like stones that once could weep Forever in the cave of ended things That deep in some immortal Lemnos lies Nor ever opens its dank gates to day! O, come ere we are lost! Be thy fair arms The rainbow girdle to this longing storm And its rude breast will pillow thee as soft As Leda when, cool-rocked on lily couch, The great down-bosomed god swam to her love! Come, Aratea, heart of life! O now This pulse speaks back to mine--this bosom throbs Like heaven's Artemis unto her own! [_Kisses her_] O kiss that holds the mornings of all time, And dewy seasons of the ungathered rose, Plant once again thy summer on my lips! _Ara._ How dear is death that kisses with such breath! Thine eyes are seas where sighing ardors blow Love's argosies from island bowers of dream Into my heart. Save me, Aristocles! O me, I'm netted in these golden curls With web as sure as that the crafty god Once wove round Aphrodite's blushing bed And trapped great Ares, sport for gazing heaven! O, I am lost! [_Casts him off_] Away! away! Nor may My lips move more on earth but in a prayer To cleanse this moment's madness from our souls! _Aris._ Wouldst leave me now to death? _Ara._ Ay, unto death, Lest Truth and Honor die! Thy way's not mine. My aspen soul would shake its house of fear, Imagine thunder in the bee's soft hum, And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air That would not move the purple down of clouds. To so great compass now my horror grows That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood 'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life Still mourning in them. I am still for fear Another world will crumble as I stir. _Aris._ Move, Aratea! Speak!