'Tis scarce like sound; it tingles through the frame
  As lightning tingles, hovering ere it strike.
  Speak, Spirit! from thine inorganic voice
  I only know that thou art moving near
  And love. How cursed I him?

THE EARTH
  How canst thou hear
  Who knowest not the language of the dead?

PROMETHEUS
  Thou art a living spirit; speak as they.

THE EARTH
  I dare not speak like life, lest Heaven's fell King
  Should hear, and link me to some wheel of pain
  More torturing than the one whereon I roll.
  Subtle thou art and good; and though the Gods
  Hear not this voice, yet thou art more than God,
  Being wise and kind: earnestly hearken now.

PROMETHEUS
  Obscurely through my brain, like shadows dim,
  Sweep awful thoughts, rapid and thick. I feel
  Faint, like one mingled in entwining love;
  Yet 't is not pleasure.

THE EARTH
  No, thou canst not hear;
  Thou art immortal, and this tongue is known
  Only to those who die.

PROMETHEUS
  And what art thou,
  O melancholy Voice?