“TO A LADY SINGING
“So smooth, so sweet, so silvery is thy voice
As, could they hear, the damned would make no noise,
But listen to thee walking in thy chamber,
Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.”
“O rare!” cried I, clapping my hands. “A right music, like drops of honey distilling from the comb. Was this a happy chance, or may the gentleman summon the delicate Ariel when he will?”
He smiled, indulgent:
“Since you compare the lines with honey, hear yet again.” I sat elate.
“As Julia once a-sleeping lay
It chanced a bee did fly that way.