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Beauty? As tho' breathed not from you The very dawn of creation's day, When the planets with all their retinue Leaped forth to meet you on your way!

Our dreams have mingled. The new times bring Old snatches of buried memory, Which trouble us like a whispering, Heard at the bottom of the sea.

We have been too far; we have dived too deep, Death itself cannot quench the spark. We know too much of the ways of sleep To fear the everlasting dark.