22. And their lips moved; one seemed to speak, When suddenly the mountains cracked, _135 And through the chasm the flood did break With an earth-uplifting cataract: The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin Dream Lifted the Lady from the stream. _140 23. The dizzy flight of that phantom pale Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while from the veil Of her dark eyes the Dream did creep, And she walked about as one who knew _145 That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view. NOTES: _18 golden 1819; gold 1824, 1839. _28 or 1824; nor 1839. _62 or]a cj. Rossetti. _63 its]their cj. Rossetti. _92 flames cj. Rossetti; waves 1819, 1824, 1839. _101 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. _106 flood]flames cj. James Thomson ('B.V.'). _120 that 1819, 1824; who 1839. _135 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. *** TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. [Published by Mrs. Shelley in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian is a chaotic first draft, from which Mr. Locock ["Examination", etc., 1903, pages 60-62] has, with patient ingenuity, disengaged a first and a second stanza consistent with the metrical scheme of stanzas 3 and 4. The two stanzas thus recovered are printed here immediately below the poem as edited by Mrs. Shelley. It need hardly be added that Mr. Locock's restored version cannot, any more than Mrs. Shelley's obviously imperfect one, be regarded in the light of a final recension.] 1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed!--Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; _5 Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet. Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget! 2. A breathless awe, like the swift change _10 Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the enchantment of thy strain, _15 And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere, Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. _20