Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/73

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OH, thou hadst been a wife for Shakspeare's self! No head, save some world-genius, ought to rest Above the treasures of that perfect breast; Or nightly draw fresh light from those keen stars Through which thy soul awes ours: yet thou art bound— Oh waste of nature!—to a craven hound; To shameless lust, and childish greed of pelf; Athené to a Satyr: was that link Forged by The Father's hand? Man's reason bars The bans which God allowed.—Ay, so we think: Forgetting, thou hadst weaker been, full blest,  Than thus made strong by suffering; and more great  In martyrdom, than throned as Cæsar's mate.
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