  What crown of dews and opals Morning wore I knew not, taken in the toils of Sleep; For mine it was the ways profound to keep Where seas of dream break on a phantom shore To mysteries of music evermore. There shone no star on headland nor on steep, And past the vague horizon of that deep On isles unknown I heard its billows roar. Eastward the everlasting fountains welled Till o’er my rest the dayspring’s golden tide On hills that are and nearer seas was whirled; But sealed within my haunted brows I held The forms that pass, the shadows that abide, And music of the soul’s dim under-world. |
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