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...EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BLIND ASTRONOMER by THOMAS ASA ON THE PICTURE OF LUCRETIA STABBING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE MAGIC LAND by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON CORINTH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |