Dactylic Hexameter: 2

Deep, 'mid the shades of night, I sink in silent repose;
Pressed by the soft touch of sleep, my lids on the outer world close;
But to the eye of my soul a fairer vision unfolds,
That, with a charm of delight, my spirit long wondering holds.

There are the bright forms of youth, creations too lovely to stay:
Ever they come in my dreams,—I wake, and they hasten away.
Over my pillow they hover, as clouds o'er the far golden west,
When, in the soft-heaving wave, Day sinks to the couch of his rest.

There rise, in beauty, the shapes that gladdened in earliest time,
Where spread the lily and rose, full-bloomed, in Ionia's clime:
Nymphs, too, of forest and grove, of fountain and blue-rolling deep,
Still, with their dark-beaming eyes, fond watch o'er the slumberer keep.

Still, from the high walls of heaven, the gods in their glory descend;
Still, to the bold-bearing youth, their power and their spirit they lend;
Still, o'er the dark-rolling clouds, triumphant they ride in their cars;
Still, from victorious death, the demigod mounts to the stars.

Eldest and highest of bards! thy song, with its music divine,
Rolls through this magical world, my spirit has raised for its shrine.
Still, as when first from thy lyre its tones in harmony stole,
Breathes, through the silence of night, its influence deep in my soul.
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