Along the sheen, along the glassy sheen, 2 Amid the lull of lucent night they go; Till, in the haven of an islet green, Murmuring through reeds, the gentle waters flow: The shooting pinnace gains the gradual strand, Hush'd as a shadow glides the Shape to land. The Cymrian, following, scarcely touch'd the shore 3 When slowly, slowly sunk the meteor-isle, Fathom on fathom, to the sparry floor Of alabaster shaft and porphyr-pile, Built as by Nereus for his own retreat, Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet.[1] Far, through the crystal lymph, the pillar'd halls 4 Went lengthening on in vista'd majesty; The waters sapp'd not the enchanted walls, Nor shut their roofless silence from the sky; But every beam that lights this world of ours Broke sparkling downward into diamond showers. And the strange magic of the place bestow'd 5 Its own strange life upon the startled King, Round him, like air, the subtle waters flow'd; As round the Naiad flows her native spring; Domelike collapsed the azure;--moonlight clear Fill'd the melodious silvery atmosphere-- Melodious with the chaunt of distant falls 6 Of sportive waves, within the waves at play, And infant springs that bubble up the halls Through sparry founts (on which the broken ray Weaves its slight iris), hymning while they rise To that smooth calm their restless life supplies, Like secret thoughts in some still poet's soul, 7 That swell the deep while yearning to the stars:-- But overhead a trembling shadow stole, A gloom that leaf-like quiver'd on the spars, And that quick shadow, ever moving, fell From a vast Tree with root immoveable; In link'd arcades, and interwoven bowers 8 Swept the long forest from that single stem! And, flashing through the foliage, fruits or flowers In jewell'd clusters, glow'd with every gem Golgonda hideth from the greed of kings; Or Lybian gryphons guard with drowsy wings. Here blush'd the ruby, warm as Charity, 9 There the mild topaz, wrath-assuaging, shone Radiant as Mercy; like an angel's eye, Or a stray splendour from the Father's throne The sapphire chaste a heavenly lustre gave To that blue heaven reflected on the wave. Never from India's cave, or Oman's sea 10 Swart Afrite stole for scornful Peri's brow, Such gems as, wasted on that Wonder-tree, Paled Sheban treasures in each careless bough; And every bough the gliding wavelet heaves, Quivers to music with the quivering leaves.