Then, sweet as the music in Assam's bowers,
When winds go singing among the flowers,
Or like the leaves of the lotus-tree
That touch each other in melody,
So sweetly a voice creeps into my soul
To woo my senses from earth's control,
And point to a world of rarer joy
Where pleasures are found that never cloy,
Where bliss supernal forever reigns,
And rapture gushes in seraph strains.