Fell the spirit moonlight laden,
Laden with soft dews from Aidenn,
Shaken downward, still Nepenthe
Drunk by dreaming bards of yore.
Eden is life’s mocking fever,
Where through citron groves for ever
Blow the spice winds, and the love-birds
Tell their raptures o’er and o’er,
From earth’s hell by Afrits haunted,
From its evil disenchanted,