And the heavens grew rosy-rich, and rare;
Laughed the dewy plain and glassy billow,
For the Golden God himself was there;
And the vapour-screen
Rose the hills between,
Steaming up, like incense, in the air.
IX.
O'er her husband sate Ione bending—
Marble-like and marble-hued he lay;
Underneath her raven locks descending,