And the Heavens are all glad and wide-arching above.
Kiss the far-distant hills, like the warm lips of Love,
When she cradles the stars and the earth on her breast,
While the waters lie still in their sleep,
And the banners of Evening, unfurl’d in the west,
Pavilion her Deity’s sleep.
It is well!—
Lo, the spell!
It shakes every shroud!
How they rise!—How they rise!—