Love housed 'neath his eyelids, that, slender As petals of roses, were pale: She bent and she kissed them and, tender, She murmured and bade them unveil, The blossoms beneath them unveil. And he woke and beheld her and panted:-- "At last I behold thee, O Song! O beautiful, pitiless Song! Thou, thou, who so wildly enchanted, And led me, eluded me long! Evaded and lured me so long!" IX Then she knelt on the mantle of satin, And plunged a long look in his eyes: She knelt on the mantle of scarlet, And kissed him on mouth and on eyes, And mingled her soul with his sighs. And then in a moment she knew it,-- He deemed her a part of his dream; And she smiled and she said, "I am Music! And thy soul--'twas my spirit that drew it, Thy soul, with a mystical gleam, A brightness, a glimmer, a gleam." X And he gazed at her strangely; and, sobbing, Cried out, "Yea; thy harp!--is it strung? Thy harp of wild gold, is it strung? With fingers of silver set throbbing Its chords with that song thou hast sung, So oft in my dreams thou hast sung." XI Then he ceased:--and his eyes--how they glistened! His eyes, that were haunted with pain, With longing and beauty and pain: And again he cried out, "Oh, that music! That proud and that perilous music! O God! for that tyrannous strain, To which in my dreams I have listened, Ah, God! I have listened in vain!" And he tossed on the mantle of satin His deep raven darkness of hair; And the song at her lips was ungathered, And she sat there to marvel and stare; Like marble, to wonder and stare. XII Then there welled from her lips all the glory Of music delirious with words; Of music that told the heart's story, And trembled with God-given words, And rang like the crossing of swords. And it seemed that the spirit of Beauty Swept through it with farewells and sighs; The spirits of Beauty and Duty, And Love with his beautiful eyes; And Heaven, and Hell with its cries; Sad Hell with a tempest of cries. XIII The rapture was there of all passion; The heartache of all we have lost: The sweetness was there that we fashion From love we have won or have lost, Its terror, its torment, and cost. And over it all was a fury Of wings that seemed beating above, Of stars and of winds and the glory Of God and the splendor of love, The splendor and triumph of love. XIV And then, from her poppy wings, Slumber Dropped petals of sleep on his eyes; The Spirit of Slumber with pinions Of vaporous silver, whose flutter Had mixed with the music's wild number, Lured down from the shadowy skies; Lured down from her drowsy dominions, To nest in his tired-out eyes. XV