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And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.
I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song
Flows on, and fills all things with melody.Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.
Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which when the starry waters sleep,
Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright,
Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.
Y spirit like a charmèd bark doth
Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing,
away into the regions dim Of rapture
—as a boat, with swift sails wing
Its way adown some many-winding river.
A Fragment: To Music
ILVER key of the fountain of
Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;
grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy
Is laid asleep in flowers.
70, Music, thou art not the "food of Love,"
Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self,
Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.
Supposed to Be Addressed to William Godwin
IGHTY eagle! thou that soarest
And when night descends defiest