I have been mounted on life's topmost wave, Until my forehead kissed the dazzling cloud; I have been dashed beneath the murky shroud That yawns between the watery crests. I rave, Sometimes, liked cursed Orestes; sometimes lave My limbs in dews of asphodel; or, bowed With torrid heat, I moan to heaven aloud, Or shrink with Winter in his icy cave. Now peace broods over me; now savage rage Spurns me across the world. Nor am I free From nightly visions, when the pictured page Of sleep unfolds its varied leaves to me, Changing as often as the mimic stage;— And all this, lady, through my love for thee! |