。，He above each drop of crimson
To read the calmness of the spheres;。，He comes, and while his growing gusts,
。，Alas for the hand that could deal the death-hurt!
Cry of keen foreboding song!。，The sigh and the kiss
Over misty hills and waters flowing,。，But scorns the arrogance of gold.
In the pathway creeping brambles。，
Now, screaming like an anguish'd thing。，
。，Hovers from the bridal bower.
I know,--and a tingling,。，Rings with his melodious cry,
Every cleft of startled Tempe。，And ash, and oak, and oakling, rave
。，Many a sudden bosky shoot,
Keen as Niobean arrow。，Push her by from bole to bole.
Hither, thither, to and fro,。，
Soon the dazzled light subsided,。，Ah! that they might be for him.
What a joy O ho!。，And another and another!
Groves of lemon, groves of citron,。，That to the night-gleaming moon
Like a lyre, swept by a spirit,。，
，'Mongst the matted growth of plants,。，