THE SIEGE



o me, I'm netted in these golden curls
With web as sure as that the crafty god
Once wove round Aphrodite's blushing bed
And trapped great Ares, sport for gazing heaven!
0, I am lost! [Casts him off]
            Away! away! Nor may
My lips move more on earth but in a prayer
To cleanse this moment's madness from our souls!
  Aris. Wouldst leave me now to death
  Ara.                               Ay, unto death,
Lest Truth and Honor die! Thy way's not mine.
My aspen soul would shake its house of fear,
Imagine thunder in the bee's soft hum,
And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air
That would not move the purple down of clouds.
To so great compass now my horror grows
That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood
'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life
Still mourning in them. I am still for fear
Another world will crumble as I stir.
  Aris. Move, Aratea! Speak!
  Ara.                       Dost hear that sound
It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods
Who gather all the golden virtues up
Vouchsafed to earth and trampled low by man.
See how they rise with their immortal store,
A moving radiance like the march of light,
And leave us dark for want of what they bear
Far, far till stars must upward look to see-
A sapphire trail through the ethereal rose!
Now-earth and darkness-and you call it love!
                               [Sinks down]
  Aris. [Lifting her] Fair soul, be mortal yet!
  Ara. [Going from him]           Who leaps for stars
Must fall a million leagues too short, or else



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