I had a voice, and I had a true sense of sound; but when I tried to sing, the one would not content the other, and so I remained silent.

This morning, however, I had found myself, ere I was aware, rejoicing in a 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, Thou hast kept eternally; Thee they found not, many finding-- I have found thee: wake for me." As I sang, I looked earnestly at the face so vaguely revealed before me.
I fancied, yet believed it to be but fancy, that through the dim veil of the alabaster, I saw a motion of the head as if caused by a sinking sigh.