A thrilling tone through the still air rings,
Like music trembling on fairy strings.
Flowers like those which the Peris find
In the bowers of their paradise, and bind
In the flowing tresses, are blooming there,
And gay birds glance through the scented air.
Gems and pearls are strew’d on the earth
Untouch’d—there are none to know their worth;
And that fair island death comes not nigh:
Why should he come?—there are none to die.