Never before has my ear heard

Never before has my ear heard
A sweeter music, passion stirred,
Nor depth and purity so azurn,
Of breathing dawn and of morning bird.

She comes, in heyday of her blood,
Over the groves and waiting flood!
The air is vital with her presence,
And banners wave from the woodbine's bud.

AEolian sylphs touch soft their lutes,
Brooks tinkle, tinkle past the roots,
As Beauty, hidden in the cover,
Fingers the stops of her melting flutes.