Yon pearly gates their magic waves unloose,
And all the liberal air rains melody
Around. O night! O time! delay, delay,—
Pause here, entranced! Ye evening winds, come near,
But whisper not,—and you ye flowers, fresh culled
From odorous nooks, where silvery rivulets run,
Breath silent incense still.
Hail, matchless queen!
Thou, like the high white Alps, canst hear, unspoiled,
The world's artillery (thundering praises) pass.