As Hermes Once Took To His Feathers Light When Lulled Argus, Baffled, Swoon'D And Slept, So On A Delphic Reed My Idle Spright So Play'D, So Charm'D, So Conquer'D, So Bereft The Dragon-World Of All Its Hundred Eyes, And, Seeing It Asleep, So Fled Away: Not To Pure Ida With Its Snow-Cold Skies, Nor Unto Tempe Where Jove Griev'D A Day; But To That Second Circle Of Sad Hell, Where 'Mid The Gust, The Whirlwind, And The Flaw Of Rain And Hail-Stones, Lovers Need Not Tell Their Sorrows. Pale Were The Sweet Lips I Saw, Pale Were The Lips I Kiss'D, And Fair The Form I Floated With, About That Melancholy Storm.