symbol of secrecy and silence.
Some seasons have fled,
and still they are flying,
Since first thou wert pluck’d from the tree,
‘And now the fair form in affliction is lying,
That gave thee in beauty to me
In a taste of Good and Evil.
A moment more, like sun-set’s beam,
Flung loose along the rippling stream,
Still bright, they all dissolv’d the rays,
In parted groups the dance decays;
Whilest flesh of man and woman form,
Fromst’ His center’d garden all is torn;
The music dies, as twilight’s wave
Subsiding in its marble cave.
The dance has paus’d: on grot and hill
All is delicious, all is still.