Fear
Only let me return unto thee, Lord! I fear! I fear!
Beauty
(To AMBITION, angrily.) And if he thought on thee, what then? Storms, horrors, all blackness and rage! Thou art such! Is not Beauty better?—this light?—this song?—these Cherubim and Seraphim? Wilt thou have naught but shadow? Avaunt! To think on thee is death, destruction, the end of all! Oh, no, Lord! Oh, no, no, no! Put them all hence! Think thou on me! Are not all thy fair dreams, in which suns cluster and lovely forms bud forth, more to thee than these, thy darker? (She smiles winningly.)