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All in that garden bloom, and all
And leaves, till they can hold no more; Then to NAMOUNA Alies and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.
With what delight th’ Enchantress views
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, As, in a kind of holy trance,
She hung above those fragrant treasures, Bending to drink their balmy airs, As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed From flowers and scented flame that fed Her charm'd life-for none had e'er Beheld her taste of mortal fare, Nor ever in aught earthly dip, But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, Th’ Enchantress now begins her spell, Thus singing, as she winds and weaves In mystic form the glittering leaves:
I know where the wing’d visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;
Where they hide their wings by day.
Lt nun by R. Westall RA
Engr.gva by G. Furman