And all the air throbbed fragrance as he went.
He spake no word, but in his eyes there shone
The steady radiance of the evening star,
And wooing breath of music, lightly blown
By fitful winds, came stealing from afar.
And still I wait till, on some raptured morn,
Astir with wings, and tremulous with light,
The grapes of Eschol, through the desert borne,
May gleam again upon my eager sight.
Tranquil and cool, a little path will run