by AE
Why do I see in this still light
The Psyche of the City rise?
Is mine own psyche plumed for air
And shall that follow to the skies?

A Phantom trembles in the hills,
In woodland and in waters blue,
Whose breath is lovely in my ear,
" Come, we will fly afar with you.

" And find some island on the air
Where we may stay our delicate fire,
And the Gold-gleaming Genius weave
From us thy Land of Heart's Desire. "
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