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The walls were faintly colour'd with the bloom Which comes when morn has struggled through the gloom, And blushes for success: the silken veil Of the blue hangings seem'd to catch the gale, Then keep its sweetness prisoner: on the floor The Persian loom had spread its velvet store: Vases stood round, each carved with such fine art, The flowers that fill'd seem'd of themselves a part; A sandal lute lay on an inlaid stand, Whose rich wrought ivory spoke its Indian land; Shells of bright colours, foreign toys of gold, And crystals wrought in many a curious mould; Pictures, a prince's ransom in their worth; Small alabaster statues—all that earth