To Constantia, Singing.

1.     Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die,     Perchance were death indeed! - Constantia, turn!     In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie,     Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn     Between thy lips, are laid to sleep;     Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet,     And from thy touch like fire doth leap.     Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet.     Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!     2.     A breathless awe, like the swift change     Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers,     Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange,     Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.     The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven     By the enchantment of thy strain,     And on my shoulders wings are woven,     To follow its sublime career     Beyond the mighty moons that wane     Upon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere,     Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear.     3.     Her voice is hovering o'er my soul - it lingers     O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings,     The blood and life within those snowy fingers     Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.     My brain is wild, my breath comes quick -     The blood is listening in my frame,     And thronging shadows, fast and thick,     Fall on my overflowing eyes;     My heart is quivering like a flame;     As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,     I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.     4.     I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee,     Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song     Flows on, and fills all things with melody. -     Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong,     On which, like one in trance upborne,     Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep,     Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.     Now 'tis the breath of summer night,     Which when the starry waters sleep,     Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright,     Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.     STANZAS 1 AND 2.     As restored by Mr. C.D. Locock.     1.     Cease, cease - for such wild lessons madmen learn     Thus to be lost, and thus to sink and die     Perchance were death indeed! - Constantia turn     In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie     Even though the sounds its voice that were     Between [thy] lips are laid to sleep:     Within thy breath, and on thy hair     Like odour, it is [lingering] yet     And from thy touch like fire doth leap -     Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet -     Alas, that the torn heart can bleed but not forget.     2.     [A deep and] breathless awe like the swift change     Of dreams unseen but felt in youthful slumbers     Wild sweet yet incommunicably strange     Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers...