“Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.”
Shelley.
Midst the long reeds that o’er a Grecian stream
Unto the faint wind sigh’d melodiously,
And where the sculpture of a broken shrine
Sent out thro’ shadowy grass and thick wild-flowers