And saw, reflected from some mirror there,
My own imaginings too warm and fair.
IV.
IN THE GROVE.
Once more the huntress clad in silvery mail
Seeks her Endymion, over hill and glade;
Once more the hour so dear to youth and maid—
The hour that all Love’s guardian spirits hail.
Wrapped in the moonlight like a lucent veil,
Is it for me, young priestess, that, arrayed
Still in thy vestal robes, thy feet have strayed