About the portal—myriad creatures bright
As the intensest light
Of phosphor flame—small as the motes that rise,
When the sun’s beam comes warm
From its far throne in the uncurtained skies.
Among the elves and fairies moves their queen;
Tell me, dear Fancy, delicate Ariel—say,
Have I not oft a like expression seen,
An eye, a brow, illumined by a ray
As pure and soft? Oh, take the misty screen