Soul of the Rose, from divine Cashmire
I'm come,—all orient, odorous, rare,
An Eden-breath in your boreal air;
I'm come. I'm come! like a seraph's sigh
Breath'd to ethereal minstrelsy,
And well ye'll deem what a sigh must be
From the tearless heirs of eternity!
I've fled my bright frame from Tirnagh's stream,
And, wand'ring here, am sweet as the dream