Chapter XVII

That we may love each other through our eyes Let us our glances lave, and make them clear, Of all the thousand glances that they here Have met, in this base world of servile lies.

The dawn is dressed in blossom and in dew, And chequered too With very tender light--it looks as though Frail plumes of sun and silver, through the mist, Glided across the garden to and fro, And with a soft caress the mosses kissed.

Our wondrous ponds of blue Tremble and wake with golden shimmerings; Swift emerald flights beneath the trees dart through. And now the light from hedge and path anew Sweeps the damp dust, where yet the twilight clings.