THE SIEGE



  Ara. [Sees him and advances] You here, Aristocles
  Aris.                Wilt say farewell
  Ara. [Going back] Farewell.
  Aris.                    No word but that
  Ara.                            That is too much.
  Aris. [Approaching] Too much
  Ara.            I-faint again. Nay, touch me not!
  Arw. Am I so perilous to thee My hand
Has had no commerce yet with cruelty.
  Ara. The moon with silver foot steps not more soft
Among the tears of night than falls thy touch
On me, who, poorer than the night, must go
Uncomforted. Thou'lt leave this place at once
If thou hast pity.
  Aris.        Ah, had I a heart
Great-swelling as the sad Molurian mount,
Or piled peaks that wreck the sailing moon,
'Twere not enough to melt upon this woe!
  Ara. Wretched, 0 wretched me! To be the curse
Of what is best on earth!
  Aris.               Peace, unjust lips!
Thou art a rose that, rooted in Elysium,
Leans sorrowing to the world that it may see
What beauty is and know then how to dream.
0, close those other worlds, your eyes, that I
May live in this! [She moves back]
              Stay, I must speak!
  Ara.                         No, no!
  Aris. And you must hear me.
  Ara.                      Silence, sir, is best.
In her deep bosom let our woes be buried,
As Night doth shepherd all the cares of day
Till Heaven think the world asleep, though 'neath
The dark are hot and staring eyes.
Aris.                        Nay, nay,



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