Heap Cassia, Sandal-Buds And Stripes Of Labdanum, And Aloe-Balls, Smeared With Dull Nard An Indian Wipes From Out Her Hair: Such Balsam Falls Down Sea-Side Mountain Pedestals, From Tree-Tops Where Tired Winds Are Fain, Spent With The Vast And Howling Main, To Treasure Half Their Island-Gain. And Strew Faint Sweetness From Some Old Egyptian'S Fine Worm-Eaten Shroud Which Breaks To Dust When Once Unrolled; Or Shredded Perfume, Like A Cloud From Closet Long To Quiet Vowed, With Mothed And Dropping Arras Hung, Mouldering Her Lute And Books Among, As When A Queen, Long Dead, Was Young.