Monday, October 28, 2013


Dora  Read Goodale.
RARE nights have been, but never night like this!

Never so softly breathed the ebbing gale
Where, in locked slumber, rolls the interval
Under the brown edge of the precipice!
Oh, softly, from the purple hushed abyss
With all its heavenly legions streaming pale,
The moon, bright-orbed behind her crystal veil,
Melts to this rude world in a stainless kiss!
Such is the hour when skyey forces. hover;
The prisoned spirit leaps to burst its bars,
Earth's dullest mortal thrilling like a lover-.
Poor shepherd dazed beneath that gulf of stars!
Till time and sense and rock and sand and sea
Fade in the white glare of immensity.


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