"A spirit framed Too proudly special for obedience, Too subtly pondering for mastery: Born of a goddess with a mortal sire, Heir of flesh-fettered, weak divinity, _Doom-gifted with long resonant consciousness And perilous heightening of the sentient soul_." The transition to the lines in Italic is like the passage from a well-ventilated room into a vacuum. On reflection, we see "long resonant consciousness" to be a very good term; but, as it stands, it certainly lacks breathing-space. On the other hand, there are more than enough passages of the character of the following to support what I have said of the genuine splendour of the style:-- "I was right! These gems have life in them: their colours speak, Say what words fail of. So do many things,-- The scent of jasmine and the fountain's plash, The moving shadows on the far-off hills, The slanting moonlight and our clasping hands. O Silva, there's an ocean round our words, That overflows and drowns them. Do you know. Sometimes when we sit silent, and the air Breathes gently on us from the orange-trees, It seems that with the whisper of a word Our souls must shrink, get poorer, more apart? Is it not true? DON SILVA. Yes, dearest, it is true. Speech is but broken light upon the depth Of the unspoken: even your loved words Float in the larger meaning of your voice As something dimmer."