song; but whether it was before or after I had eaten of the
fruits of the forest, I could not satisfy myself. I concluded it
was after, however; and that the increased impulse to sing I now
felt, was in part owing to having drunk of the little well, which
shone like a brilliant eye in a corner of the cave. It saw down
on the ground by the "antenatal tomb," leaned upon it with my
face towards the head of the figure within, and sang--the words
and tones coming together, and inseparably connected, as if word
and tone formed one thing; or, as if each word could be uttered
only in that tone, and was incapable of distinction from it,
except in idea, by an acute analysis. I sang something like
this: but the words are only a dull representation of a state
whose very elevation precluded the possibility of remembrance;
and in which I presume the words really employed were as far
above these, as that state transcended this wherein I recall it:

"Marble woman, vainly sleeping
In the very death of dreams!
Wilt thou--slumber from thee sweeping,
All but what with vision teems--
Hear my voice come through the golden
Mist of memory and hope;
And with shadowy smile embolden
Me with primal Death to cope?

"Thee the sculptors all pursuing,
Have embodied but their own;
Round their visions, form enduring,
Marble vestments thou hast thrown;
But thyself, in silence winding,