Oran

Ha! then you too have seen it; it is not, O Heaven!—is not delusion, this fond dream, But even now it works, works bliss for her. Proceed, Sir ... you were saying ... Sir, I list ... That in her eyes you saw angelic fire, Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth, Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin To earth's clay-moulded fabrics—such, perchance, As entering heaven, might have left its dust At the bright folding portals, sandal-like, And thence, repassing in seraphic trance, Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate!