TO A LADY SINGING.

How like a swan, cleaving the azure sky, The voice upsoars of thy triumphant song, That whirled awhile resistlessly along By the great sweep of threatening harmony, Seemed, overmatched, to struggle helplessly With that impetuous music, yet ere long Escaping from the current fierce and strong, Pierces the clear crystàlline vault on high. And I too am upborne with thee together In circles ever narrowing, round and round, Over the clouds and sunshine—who erewhile, Like a blest bird of charmèd summer-weather In the blue shadow of some foamless isle, Was floating on the billows of sweet sound.