  In Darkness and pacing the thunder-beat Shore By many Waves, No sound being near to me there but the hoarse Cicala’s cry, While that unseen Sword, the Zodiacal Light, Falchion of Dawn, Made clear all the Orient and wanner the Silvery Stars, I heard the fine flute of the Fast Fading Fire, The Morning Star, Pipe thus to the Glimmering Glories of Night, And sing, ‘O World, If I even leave thee then Who can remain?’ But from the Deep The Thundering Sun upsprang, and replied, ‘Even I.’ |
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