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Vied with the rainbow,—through sweet-scented groves Golden with oranges: at length the path Grew shadowy with darker, older trees, And led us to a little lonely spot. There were no blossoming shrubs, but sweeping pines Guarded the solitude; and laurel boughs Made fitting mirrors for the lovely moon, With their bright shining leaves; the ivy lay And trail'd upon the ground; and in the midst A large old cypress stood, beneath whose shade There was a sculptured form; the feet were placed Upon a finely-carved rose wreath; the arms Were raised to Heaven, as if to clasp the stars leant beside; 'twas hard to say Which was the actual marble: when she spoke,