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 And thro’ the tender-breaking little rifts Of faintest crimson, quietly stole forth The young life of the morning; and the sky Woke softly from soft slumber, drawing back Out of the sea’s embrace, but still the sea Slept; nor awoke till Dawn sent forth her swift Thin-winged messenger, the early breeze, With its light touch to rouse the dreamy waves, Telling them “Day is come!”

And presently Nereia’s spirit felt the faint sweet stir That pass’d along the water and the sky; And, tenderly as sleep had taken her, As tenderly it left her, stealing forth By secret ways that no man knoweth of. So from the dewy darkness of her dreams The damsel’s spirit fared, but linger’d yet Within the shadowy opal-tinted mist That tremulously veers round wakening eyes. For, first, she knew she had the sea in sight,