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And o'er the ceiling starry showers Mingled with many-colour'd flowers, With crimson roses o'er her weeping, There lay that royal maiden sleeping— , she whom gold could move— How could it move her heart to love? Between the pillars the rich fold Of tapestry fell, inwrought with gold, And many-colour'd silks which gave, Strange legends of the fair and brave. And there the terrace covered o'er With summer's fair and scented store; As grateful for the gentle care That had such pride to keep it fair.

And, gazing, as if heart and eye Were mingled with that lovely sky,