Are gliding forever in soft, dreamy light
Through their mazes of sunshine and flow’rs;
Fair clime of the Laurel—the Sword and the Lyre!
There the souls are all genius—the hearts are all fire;
There the Rivers—the Mountains—the lowliest sods
Were hallowed, long since, by the bright feet of Gods;
There Beauty and Grandeur their wonders of old
Like a bridal of star-light and thunder unroll’d;
There the air seems to breathe of a music sent out
From the rose-muffled lips of invisible streams,