 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
XLIII.
SPIRIT-WANDERINGS.
Ah, me! that sleeping like Endymion,Upon a gentle hillslope, flow'r bestrewn,
I could be laid to wait the coming moon,
And her fresh smile, as some rich garment, don!
Let the winds gather round me, and the dell,
That breaks into the valley, catch the sound,
And, with its many voices, speed around
The airy rapture, till the natural spell
Rouse up the wood-nymphs to delight my sleep;
While she, my mistress, from her ocean cell,
Ascends to the blue summits, with a swell
Of those sweet noises from the caverns deep,
Where blue eyed Nereids sport on ocean's shell,
And to old Triton's conch, in long procession sweep.
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |