Of wild romance, and cling to thee, and gaze,
Between two kisses, on thy face divine.
XI.
Aye! on thy face, and on the rippling hair
That makes a mantle round thee in the night,
A royal robe, a network of the light,
Which fairies brought for thee, to keep thee fair,
And hide the glories of a beauty rare
As those of sylphs, whereof the poets write.