Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day.
Then Kilmeny begged again to see
The friends she had left in her own countrye,
To tell of the place where she had been,
And the glories that lay in the land unseen;
To warn the living maidens fair,
The loved of Heaven, the spirits’ care,
That all whose minds unmeled remain
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.
With distant music, soft and deep,