Page:The poetical works of James Thomson (1895), Volume 1.djvu/111

4 And I lay wrapt as in a fleece Of warmth and purity and peace; While consciousness within the stream Of rippling thought and shadowy dream Sank slowly to the deepest deep, Lured by the murmuring Siren, sleep; When suddenly a little thrill Of splendour pricked both mind and will, And brought me tidings grand and strange; I did not stir with outward change, But felt with inward royal mirth, ''On all this dusk of heaven and earth ''The moon may rise or not to-night; But in my soul she rises bright! The globe of glory swelling rose In mighty pulses, solemn throes; And filled and overfilled me soon With light and music, with the swoon Of too much rapture and amaze, A murmurous hush, a luminous haze. How long in this sweet swoon I lay, What hours or years, I cannot say; Vast arcs of the celestial sphere Subtend such little angles here. But after the ineffable, This first I can remember well;