The Ægean isles, in quest of flowery prey;
And so it fell one summer afternoon,
As she led thence her train, each wing and thigh
Clogged with the sweets of many an island-bloom,
Just off Mount Sunium’s marble forehead high,
A sudden rain-gust blew them all awry
A thousand leagues into the western sky.
Beneath their flight, a waste of surges wild,
Shoreless and gray the vast Atlantic rolled;
And o’er its waves no Tyrian galley toiled,