Of all the shaded loveliness it hides in grot and dell!
By fountains flinging rainbow-spray on dark and glossy leaves,
And bowers wherein the forest-dove her nest untroubled weaves;
The myrtle dwells there, sending round the richness of its breath,
And the violets gleam like amethysts from the dewy moss beneath.
“And there are floating sounds that fill the skies through night and day—
Sweet sounds! the soul to hear them faints in dreams of heaven away;
They wander through the olive woods, and o’er the shining seas—
They mingle with the orange scents that load the sleepy breeze;
Lute, voice, and bird are blending there,—it were a bliss to die,