To a Great Poet of a Past Era
Poet , thy strain, a mountain cataract, leaps
From so remote and superhuman steeps,
It never finds the valley, but midway
Hangs beautifully lost upon the day,
In iridescence lost, in vapour spent,
Yet made immortal in evanishment.
From so remote and superhuman steeps,
It never finds the valley, but midway
Hangs beautifully lost upon the day,
In iridescence lost, in vapour spent,
Yet made immortal in evanishment.
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