Faint preludings on a flute
And she swims before us;
Shadows follow in pursuit,
Like a phantom chorus.
Sense and sound are intertwined
Through her necromancy,
Till our dreaming souls are blind
To all things but fancy.
Haunted woods and perfumed nights,
Swift and soft desires,
Roses, violet-colored lights,
And the sound of lyres,
Vague chromatics on a flute—
All are subtly blended,
Till the instrument grows mute
And the dance is ended.