The cooling rippling of the stream of song
More deeply in its tone went sweeping by;
For other rills, its winding way along,
Had mingled with its waters leapingly.
And skimming swift the waves with ear and eye,
I found the fountains whence the river came—
A group of singing sylphs—and standing by
The one that looked the queen, though robed the same,
And languishingly lovely—Idleness her name.
Her dark, luxuriant hair fell loosely o’er