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 * To the wild ocean's echoing shore,
 * And thou hast lingered there,
 * Until the sun's broad orb
 * Seemed resting on the burnished wave,
 * Thou must have marked the lines
 * Of purple gold, that motionless
 * Hung o'er the sinking sphere:
 * Thou must have marked the billowy clouds
 * Edged with intolerable radiancy
 * Towering like rocks of jet
 * Crowned with a diamond wreath.
 * And yet there is a moment,
 * When the sun's highest point

Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, When those far clouds of feathery gold,
 * Shaded with deepest purple, gleam
 * Like islands on a dark blue sea;

Then has thy fancy soared above the earth,
 * And furled its wearied wing
 * Within the Fairy's fane.


 * Yet not the golden islands
 * Gleaming in yon flood of light,