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Which lay upon the casement, where The lattice wooed the cold night air, Half hidden by a bridal twine Of jasmine with the emerald vine. And ever as the curtains made A varying light, a changeful shade; As the breeze waved them to and fro, Came on the eye the glorious show Of pictured walls where landscape wild Of wood, and stream, or mountain piled, Or sunny vale, or twilight grove, Or shapes whose every look was love; Saints, whose diviner glance seemed caught From Heaven,—some whose earthlier thought Was yet more lovely,—shone like gleams Of Beauty’s spirit seen in dreams.