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From the wild energy of wanton haste Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart; And zone that clung around her gentle waist Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart Within the centre of that hall to breathe, She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there.

Young flowers were whispering in melody To happy flowers that night – and tree to tree; Fountains were gushing music as they fell In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell; Yet silence came upon material things – Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings – And sound alone that from the spirit sprang Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:

"'Neath the blue-bell or streamer –      Or tufted wild spray     That keeps, from the dreamer,       The moonbeam away –