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as sight could reach the wild peaks rose,
 * Tier after tier against the limpid blue,
 * Titanic forms that stormed the heavens anew

At every turn, crowned with imperial snows; And then, as day sank softly to its close,
 * Diaphanous, ethereal they grew,
 * Mere wraiths of rainbow-mist that from our view,

Dream-laden, lapsed to darkness and repose.

And suddenly I found my vision blurred,
 * And knew that deeper chord was touched again

Which once in Hungary, when I had heard
 * A passionately wild, appealing strain

Of gypsy music, left me strangely stirred
 * With incommunicable joy and pain.