To her scarce-heaving breast. O Love and Death!
Ye have sad meetings on this changeful earth.
Many and sad!—but airs of heavenly breath
Shall melt the links which bind you, for your birth
Is far apart.
Now light, of richer hue
Than the moon sheds, came flushing mist and dew;
The pines grew red with morning; fresh winds play’d;
Bright-colour’d birds with splendour cross’d the shade,
Flitting on flower-like wings; glad murmurs broke