That veiled her sylph-like form from human vision;
Her step was light as that of the gazelle,
And yet its airy motions had precision;
The circling air displayed, where’er she went,
A wave of light in rainbow beauty bent.
Her voice was sweet as warble of a bird;
The accent flowed so softly through the tone,
It seemed as ’twere the thought itself you heard—
Like music, which the summer’s breeze hath thrown
O’er silent waters, from some woodland lyre,