For the first time, God alone!Then He form'd the morning-red,
But the cerements stand in their way;And as modesty cannot avail them aught here,They shake themselves all, and the shrouds soon appear
So, by the harsh decree of Fate,
We deem'd ourselves a pair;'Twas otherwise ordain'd,
Another to supply,The wood as trestles using,
Ye are pure, like the heart of the water,Ye are pure like the marrow of earth,Hov'ring round me, while I hoverOver water, o'er the earthLike the gods.
Yet where the thick-set green
We his world ourselves can frame.
Round her, in gentle play,