Praise is as sweet as a gratified whim;
When a girl pleases she never feels tir'd—
Harry smiles at me, and I smile at him.
Through the open doors of a crystal dome
Sweet is the scent of the tropical flowers,
The splendid exiles who, banish'd from home,
Are sparkling and shining to gladden ours.
Figures appearing 'mid blossom and fruit,
In an airy, fairy, magical way;
Their lips keep moving altho' they are mute