Belted Orion hangs—warm light is flowing
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On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm _200Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness,Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm ‘Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness,Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale,—And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,— _205 ‘And the far sighings of yon piny daleMade vocal by some wind we feel not here.—I bear alone what nothing may avail ‘To lighten—a strange load!’—No human earHeard this lament; but o’er the visage wan _210Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran,Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,Glassy and dark.—And that divine old man Beheld his mystic friend’s whole being shake, _215Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest—And with a calm and measured voice he spake, And, with a soft and equal pressure, pressedThat cold lean hand:—‘Dost thou remember yetWhen the curved moon then lingering in the west _220 ‘Paused, in yon waves her mighty horns to wet,How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea?’Tis just one year—sure thou dost not forget— ‘Then Plato’s words of light in thee and meLingered like moonlight in the moonless east, _225For we had just then read—thy memory ‘Is faithful now—the story of the feast;And Agathon and Diotima seemedFrom death and dark forgetfulness released...’
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