ASIA: Thine eyes are like the deep, blue, boundless heaven Contracted to two circles underneath _115 Their long, fine lashes; dark, far, measureless, Orb within orb, and line through line inwoven. PANTHEA: Why lookest thou as if a spirit passed? ASIA: There is a change: beyond their inmost depth I see a shade, a shape: 'tis He, arrayed _120 In the soft light of his own smiles, which spread Like radiance from the cloud-surrounded moon. Prometheus, it is thine! depart not yet! Say not those smiles that we shall meet again Within that bright pavilion which their beams _125 Shall build o'er the waste world? The dream is told. What shape is that between us? Its rude hair Roughens the wind that lifts it, its regard Is wild and quick, yet 'tis a thing of air, For through its gray robe gleams the golden dew _130 Whose stars the noon has quenched not. NOTE: _122 moon B; morn 1820. _126 o'er B; on 1820. DREAM Follow! Follow! PANTHEA: It is mine other dream. ASIA: It disappears. PANTHEA: It passes now into my mind. Methought As we sate here, the flower-infolding buds Burst on yon lightning-blasted almond tree, _135 When swift from the white Scythian wilderness A wind swept forth wrinkling the Earth with frost: I looked, and all the blossoms were blown down; But on each leaf was stamped, as the blue bells Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief, _140 O, FOLLOW, FOLLOW! ASIA: As you speak, your words Fill, pause by pause, my own forgotten sleep With shapes. Methought among these lawns together We wandered, underneath the young gray dawn, And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds _145 Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind; And the white dew on the new-bladed grass, Just piercing the dark earth, hung silently; And there was more which I remember not: _150 But on the shadows of the morning clouds, Athwart the purple mountain slope, was written FOLLOW, O, FOLLOW! as they vanished by; And on each herb, from which Heaven's dew had fallen, The like was stamped, as with a withering fire; _155 A wind arose among the pines; it shook The clinging music from their boughs, and then Low, sweet, faint sounds, like the farewell of ghosts, Were heard: O, FOLLOW, FOLLOW, FOLLOW ME! And then I said, 'Panthea, look on me.' _160 But in the depth of those beloved eyes Still I saw, FOLLOW, FOLLOW! NOTE: _143 these B; the 1820. ECHO: Follow, follow! PANTHEA: The crags, this clear spring morning, mock our voices As they were spirit-tongued. ASIA: It is some being Around the crags. What fine clear sounds! O, list! _165