On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby Brought fresh from the hyaline streams, She played on the banks of the Yuba Such songs as she heard in her dreams. - Thomas Holley Chivers

In the music of the morns
Blown through the Conchimarian horns,
Down the dark vistas of the reboantic Norns,
To the Genius of Eternity
Crying, “Come to me! Come to me!”

As an egg, when broken, never
Can be mended, but must ever
Be the same crushed egg for ever—
So shall this dark heart of mine!

Many mellow Cydonian suckets Sweet apples, anthosmial, divine,
From the ruby-rimmed beryline buckets Star-gemmed, lily-shaped, hyaline;
Like the sweet golden goblet found growing On the wild emerald cucumber-tree,
Rich, brilliant, like chrysophrase glowing Was my beautiful Rosalie Lee.