The other dove flew to the temple of Jupiter Ammon in the Libyan oasis, and delivered a similar command. […] On the waters swan and dolphin were beloved of her; in air, the sparrow and the dove. […] The loud Ocean heard, To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water The Earth’s white daughter Fled like a sunny beam; Behind her descended Her billows unblended With the brackish Dorian stream: — Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main, Alpheus rushed behind, — As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. […] In the full city, — by the haunted fount, — Through the dim grotto’s tracery of spars, — ’Mid the pine temples, on the moonlit mount, Where silence sits to listen to the stars; In the deep glade where dwells the brooding dove, The painted valley, and the scented air, She heard far echoes of the voice of Love, And found his footsteps’ traces everywhere. […] “’Mid hushed, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the budded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions, too; Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjointed by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of Aurorean love: The winged boy I knew: But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?