THY voice from inmost dreamland calls; The wastes of sleep thou makest fair; Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls The cataract of thy hair. The morn renews its golden birth: Thou with the vanquished night dost fade; And leav'st the ponderable earth Less real than thy shade. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAPLE LEAVES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SUMMER NIGHT by KENNETH SLADE ALLING EPITAPH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HOW THE WINNING FOUR WEST HOME by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE CUCKOO by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE WANDERING LUNATIC MIND by EDWARD CARPENTER |