Dim paths ’mid obelisks and fountains fair,
And sculptured graces, and some streamlets fled
All day and night down to the circling sea,
Singing fore’er in music’s earnest glee.
Up ’mid the boughs the zephyrs went a-playing,
Making the stars like swinging cressets seem;
And from the east came silver arrows straying
Of Dian at her moonrise; while a stream
Of melody, the Bulbul, rose-embowered,
Incessant through the dew-tipt leaflets showered,