Where all that dwell know but to love,
(The gentleness which marks the dove.)
And like that rich, unguarded shore,
She knew to be, and seem no more;
And like that land so rich in bloom,
Its branches wrought at noon a gloom;
Her form was bright with beauty's hues,
Which each propitious year renews;
And, as within its bosom lay,
Treasures which mocked the sun's bright ray;