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They weep:--from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
1
831.
ISRAFEL*
IN Heaven a spirit doth dwell
Whose heart-strings are a lute;"
"
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon
The enamoured moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven
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