And gathering freshlier overhead
     Rocked the full-foliaged elms, and swung
     The heavy-folded rose, and flung
The lilies to and fro, and said,

"The dawn, the dawn," and died away;
     And East and West, without a breath,
     Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day.     

From "Come Down, O Maid"

Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet
Myriads of rivulets, hurrying through the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

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