Like some pure lamp on hermit’s shrine,
Which only glows for him, divine
And beauteous as the spirit-eyes
That light the bow’rs of Paradise.
It was a lovely eve, but known
Unto the South’s voluptuous zone;
An eve whose shining vesture hung
Like Heaven’s own rosy flags unfurl’d,
And by some star-eyed cherub flung
In sport around our gloomy world;