II

'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers fragrant-eyed,

      Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,

They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;

      Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;

      Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,

As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,

And ready still past kisses to outnumber

      At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:20

                        The winged boy I knew;

      But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?

                        His Psyche true!