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O'er a sky as blue as her own blue eyes, Borne by winds as perfumed and light as her sighs. The zenith moon was shedding her light In the silence and glory of deep midnight, When the voice of singing was heard from afar, Like the music that echoes a falling star; And presently came gliding by The Spirit of the melody: A radiant shape, her long gold hair Flew like a banner on the air, Save one or two bright curls that fell Like gems upon a neck whose swell Rose like the dove's, when its mate's caress Is smoothing the soft plumes in tenderness; And one arm, white as the sea-spray, Amid the chords of music lay.