He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes, Her very lips, were such as he had made, And though her tresses fell but in such guise As he had wrought them, now was she arrayed In that fair garment that the priests had laid Upon the goddess on that very morn, Dyed like the setting sun upon the corn.
Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear, Simple and sweet as she was wont to be, And all at once her silver voice rang clear, Filling his soul with great felicity, And thus she spoke, "Pygmalion, come to me, O dear companion of my new-found life, For I am called thy lover and thy wife.
"Listen, these words the Dread One bade me say That was with me e'en now, _Pygmalion,_ _My new-made soul I give to thee to-day,_ _Come, feel the sweet breath that thy prayer has won,_ _And lay thine hand this heaving breast upon!_ _Come love, and walk with me between the trees,_ _And feel the freshness of the evening breeze._
_"Sweep mine hair round thy neck; behold my feet,_ _The oft-kissed feet thou thoughtst should never move,_ _Press down the daisies! draw me to thee, sweet,_ _And feel the warm heart of thy living love_ _Beat against thine, and bless the Seed of Jove_ _Whose loving tender heart hath wrought all this,_ _And wrapped us both in such a cloud of bliss._
"Ah, thou art wise to know what this may mean! Sweet seem the words to me, and needs must I Speak all the lesson of the lovely Queen: But this I know, I would we were more nigh, I have not heard thy voice but in the cry Thou utteredst then, when thou believedst gone The marvel of thine hands, the maid of stone."
She reached her hand to him, and with kind eyes Gazed into his; but he the fingers caught And drew her to him, and midst ecstasies Passing all words, yea, well-nigh passing thought, Felt that sweet breath that he so long had sought, Felt the warm life within her heaving breast As in his arms his living love he pressed.
But as his cheek touched hers he heard her say, "Wilt thou not speak, O love? why dost thou weep? Art thou then sorry for this long-wished day, Or dost thou think perchance thou wilt not keep This that thou holdest, but in dreamy sleep? Nay, let us do the bidding of the Queen, And hand in hand walk through thy garden green;