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Its breast of waves under a heaven of sleep, And pictures in its soothed, transparent being The depth of worlds o'erhanging: o'er the pillow, Washed by the overflowing, flowery locks, A silver promise of the moon is breathed: And the light veil of hieroglyphic clouds The curious wind rends ever and anon, Revealing the deep dream of Alpine heights, Which fill the distance of its wondering spirit, And on its hectic cheeks the prophecies Do fearfully reflect, that flicker up Out of the sun's grave underneath the world. Back Home |