A Funeral Phantasy
Round the sun
The Ring of Polycrates
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Hymn of Pan
to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. DVS Getz 2
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Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. Dyson Vaccum
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The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight; Like a star of Heaven,
In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see -- we feel, that it is there.
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All the earth and air With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a poet hidden In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden Its a๋rial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:
Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
All that ever was,