31. 
’And Calumny meanwhile shall feed on us,
As worms devour the dead, and near the throne 3740
And at the altar, most accepted thus
Shall sneers and curses be;—­what we have done
None shall dare vouch, though it be truly known;
That record shall remain, when they must pass
Who built their pride on its oblivion; 3745
And fame, in human hope which sculptured was,
Survive the perished scrolls of unenduring brass.

32. 
’The while we two, beloved, must depart,
And Sense and Reason, those enchanters fair,
Whose wand of power is hope, would bid the heart 3750
That gazed beyond the wormy grave despair: 
These eyes, these lips, this blood, seems darkly there
To fade in hideous ruin; no calm sleep
Peopling with golden dreams the stagnant air,
Seems our obscure and rotting eyes to steep 3755
In joy;—­but senseless death—­a ruin dark and deep!

33. 
’These are blind fancies—­reason cannot know
What sense can neither feel, nor thought conceive;
There is delusion in the world—­and woe,
And fear, and pain—­we know not whence we live, 3760
Or why, or how, or what mute Power may give
Their being to each plant, and star, and beast,
Or even these thoughts.—­Come near me!  I do weave
A chain I cannot break—­I am possessed
With thoughts too swift and strong for one lone human breast. 3765

34. 
’Yes, yes—­thy kiss is sweet, thy lips are warm—­
O! willingly, beloved, would these eyes,
Might they no more drink being from thy form,
Even as to sleep whence we again arise,
Close their faint orbs in death:  I fear nor prize 3770
Aught that can now betide, unshared by thee—­
Yes, Love when Wisdom fails makes Cythna wise: 
Darkness and death, if death be true, must be
Dearer than life and hope, if unenjoyed with thee.

35. 
’Alas, our thoughts flow on with stream, whose waters 3775
Return not to their fountain—­Earth and Heaven,
The Ocean and the Sun, the Clouds their daughters,
Winter, and Spring, and Morn, and Noon, and Even,
All that we are or know, is darkly driven
Towards one gulf.—­Lo! what a change is come 3780
Since I first spake—­but time shall be forgiven,
Though it change all but thee!’—­She ceased—­night’s gloom
Meanwhile had fallen on earth from the sky’s sunless dome.

36. 
Though she had ceased, her countenance uplifted
To Heaven, still spake, with solemn glory bright; 3785
Her dark deep eyes, her lips, whose motions gifted
The air they breathed with love, her locks undight. 
‘Fair star of life and love,’ I cried, ’my soul’s delight,
Why lookest thou on the crystalline skies? 
O, that my spirit were yon Heaven of night, 3790
Which gazes on thee with its thousand eyes!’
She turned to me and smiled—­that smile was Paradise!