The first fair life that
breaks from Nature's swoon,
Mounts in a line of rapture
to the skies;
Absorbed in its own happy
urge it lives,
Sufficient in itself, yet
turned to all.
In her luxurious ecstasy of
joy
She squandered the
love-music of her notes,
Wasting the passionate
pattern of her blooms
And
festival riot of her scents and hues.
(Book
Five, Canto One)
Immortal fragrance packed
the quivering breeze,
In groves that seemed moved
bosoms and trembling depths
The million children of the
undying spring
Bloomed, pure, unnumbered
stars of hued delight
Nestling for shelter in
their emerald sky
(Book Eleven, Canto Five)
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