[ reflecting on that for a moment before he starts to speak, slow and soft and steady, ]

. . . Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet -

[ leaning on her a little more now, his other hand's finger tracing against the blanket underneath them; his voice pitches lower, then ]

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.