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Those sweet, vague sounds are on the air, Half sleep, half song—half false, half true, As if the wind that brought them there Had touched them with its music too. It is the very place to dream Away a twilight's idle rest; Where Thought floats down a starry stream, Without a shadow on its breast.

Where Wealth, the fairy gift, 's our own, Without its low and petty cares; Where Pleasure some new veil has thrown, To hide the weary face she wears. Where hopes are high, yet cares come not, Those fellow-waves of life's drear sea, Its froth and depth—where Love is what Love only in a dream can be.