Over each other with a thousand motions,
  Upon a thousand sightless axles spinning,
  And with the force of self-destroying swiftness,
  Intensely, slowly, solemnly, roll on,
  Kindling with mingled sounds, and many tones,
  Intelligible words and music wild.
  With mighty whirl the multitudinous orb
  Grinds the bright brook into an azure mist
  Of elemental subtlety, like light;
  And the wild odor of the forest flowers,
  The music of the living grass and air,
  The emerald light of leaf-entangled beams,
  Round its intense yet self-conflicting speed
  Seem kneaded into one aërial mass
  Which drowns the sense. Within the orb itself,
  Pillowed upon its alabaster arms,
  Like to a child o'erwearied with sweet toil,
  On its own folded wings and wavy hair
  The Spirit of the Earth is laid asleep,
  And you can see its little lips are moving,
  Amid the changing light of their own smiles,
  Like one who talks of what he loves in dream.

IONE
  'T is only mocking the orb's harmony.

PANTHEA
  And from a star upon its forehead shoot,