By the burnished laurel line
Glimmering flows the singing stream;
Oily eddies crease and shine
O'er white pebbles, white as cream.
Richest roses bud or die
All about the splendid park;
Fountains glass a wily eye
Where the fawns browse in the dark.
Amber-belted through the night
Floats the alabaster moon,
Stooping o'er th’ acacia white
Where my mandolin I tune.
By the twinkling mere I sing
Where lake lilies stretch pale eyes,
And a bulbul there doth fling
Music at the moon who flies.
With a broken syrinx there,
From enameled beds of buds,
Rises Pan in hoof and hair —
Moonlight his dim sculpture floods.
The pale jessamines have felt
The large passion of her gaze;
See! they part — their glories melt
Round her in a starry haze.