While she, wrapt up as from the night’s cool kiss,
Lay like a chrysalis.
Westward we bore through that propitious night—
Through the slow-creeping hours the moonshine lay
Upon her alabaster breast and tresses bright,
Like furbished silver—Houri gone astray
From Mahomet’s heaven seemed she—gloriously
Shone her deep eyes, till down the silvered west
Pale Dian hid her shield in Ocean’s breast.
And now Apollo