Or touch the shrill reed, as they trip,
With finger light and ruby lip.
High, on her brow sublime, is born
One scarlet wood-bine’s tremulous horn;
A gaudy bee-bird’s triple plume[[9]]
Sheds on her neck its waving gloom;
With silvery gossamer entwin’d
Stream the luxuriant locks behind.
Thin folds of tangled network break
In airy waves adown her neck: