Hath then the gloomy Power
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres 10
Seized on her sinless soul? 
Must then that peerless form
Which love and admiration cannot view
Without a beating heart, those azure veins
Which steal like streams along a field of snow, 15
That lovely outline, which is fair
As breathing marble, perish? 
Must putrefaction’s breath
Leave nothing of this heavenly sight
But loathsomeness and ruin? 20
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme,
On which the lightest heart might moralize? 
Or is it only a sweet slumber
Stealing o’er sensation,
Which the breath of roseate morning 25
Chaseth into darkness? 
Will Ianthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life and rapture from her smile? 30

Yes! she will wake again,
Although her glowing limbs are motionless,
And silent those sweet lips,
Once breathing eloquence,
That might have soothed a tiger’s rage, 35
Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror. 
Her dewy eyes are closed,
And on their lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath,
The baby Sleep is pillowed:  40
Her golden tresses shade
The bosom’s stainless pride,
Curling like tendrils of the parasite
Around a marble column.

Hark! whence that rushing sound? 45
’Tis like the wondrous strain
That round a lonely ruin swells,
Which, wandering on the echoing shore,
The enthusiast hears at evening: 
’Tis softer than the west wind’s sigh; 50
’Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes
Of that strange lyre whose strings
The genii of the breezes sweep: 
Those lines of rainbow light
Are like the moonbeams when they fall 55
Through some cathedral window, but the tints
Are such as may not find
Comparison on earth.

Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen! 
Celestial coursers paw the unyielding air; 60
Their filmy pennons at her word they furl,
And stop obedient to the reins of light: 
These the Queen of Spells drew in,
She spread a charm around the spot,
And leaning graceful from the aethereal car, 65
Long did she gaze, and silently,
Upon the slumbering maid.

Oh! not the visioned poet in his dreams,
When silvery clouds float through the ’wildered brain,
When every sight of lovely, wild and grand 70
Astonishes, enraptures, elevates,
When fancy at a glance combines
The wondrous and the beautiful,—­
So bright, so fair, so wild a shape
Hath ever yet beheld, 75
As that which reined the coursers of the air,
And poured the magic of her gaze
Upon the maiden’s sleep.