Note 210 — Chapter VIII · ROMANTICISM AND NATURE
Reading edition
ASIA My soul is an enchanted boat, Which like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing. It seems to float ever, for ever Upon that many-winding river, Between mountains, woods, abysses, A paradise of wildernesses! … Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions In music’s most serene dominions; Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven. And we sail on away, afar, Without a course, without a star, But by the instinct of sweet music driven; Till through Elysian garden islets By thee, most beautiful of pilots, Where never mortal pinnace glided The boat of my desire is guided; Realms where the air we breathe is love— Prometheus Unbound, Act II, Sc. V.