A Sicilian Story :: :: University of Virginia Library

Once, in a dream, I saw a shape of power
And unimaginable beauty, clad
In a vest of brightness star dropt, armed with
A spear (celestial temper) while around
Blaz'd circling light—intense—and far beyond
Those sheeted lightnings that, by night, cast out
Their splendours near the line. The vision spoke
Cheering, and as it spoke, the air became
Painfully sweet. Such odours as the rose
Wastes on the summer air, or such as rise
From beds of hyacinths, or from jasmine flowers,
Or when the blue-ey'd violet weeps upon
Some sloping bank remote, while the young sun
(Creeping within her sheltering bower of leaves)
Dries up her tears, were nought—fantastical.
It spoke—in tones cathedral organs (touched
By master hands) ne'er gave—nor April winds,
Wandering thro' harps Æolian—nor the note
Of pastoral pipe, heard on the Garonne banks
At eventide—nor Spanish youth's guitar,
Night-touch'd—nor strains that take the charmed ear,
Breath'd by the 'witching dames of Italy.