PANTHEA
  Ha! they are gone!

IONE
  Yet feel you no delight
  From the past sweetness?

PANTHEA
  As the bare green hill,
  When some soft cloud vanishes into rain,
  Laughs with a thousand drops of sunny water
  To the unpavilioned sky!

IONE
  Even whilst we speak
  New notes arise. What is that awful sound?

PANTHEA
  'T is the deep music of the rolling world,
  Kindling within the strings of the waved air
  Æolian modulations.

IONE
  Listen too,
  How every pause is filled with under-notes,
  Clear, silver, icy, keen awakening tones,
  Which pierce the sense, and live within the soul,
  As the sharp stars pierce winter's crystal air
  And gaze upon themselves within the sea.

PANTHEA
  But see where, through two openings in the forest
  Which hanging branches overcanopy,
  And where two runnels of a rivulet,
  Between the close moss violet-inwoven,
  Have made their path of melody, like sisters