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Rh Of river margin, radiant in bloom. Yellow milola, blue convolvulus, Whose vases seem to overflow with heaven, These all are haunts of lustrous dragon-fly; Gorgeous velvet moth, sipping the sweet; Of dappled bees, gold-dusted; butterflies, Wing'd like the train of Juno's heavenly bird.

Onward we glide, and twine meandering On a moss-colour'd water, till the gale Believes my merry rowers; we expand A little sail, filling with soft sweet air, Like some soft bird's white bosom heaved with song, White as a foam of waterfalls; we glide Merrily among wave-enchanted flowers, Glossily heaving while we gently pass; Or splendid twinkling trees, immersed in light, From shadowy bosoms offering fruits of Eden; Breathing a perfume as of Paradise From their soft islands; islands of the blest, Bower'd to the marge, re-echo'd in the water;