The sad valley's restlessness.

Nothing there is motionless

Nothing save the airs that brood

Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no winds are stirred those trees

That palpitate like the chill seas

Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave

And

weep above a nameless grave!

They wave-from out their fragrant tops

Eternal dews come down in drops.

They weep:-from off their delicate stems

Perennial tears descend in gems.

IN Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute;"
None sing so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell

Of his voice all mute.

Tottering above

In her highest noon,

The enamoured moon

Blushes with love,

While, to listen, the red levin

(With the rapid Pleiades, even,

Which were seven),

Pauses in Heaven.

"And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who

has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures."-KORAN.