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A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. 5 6
O God! can I not grasp
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is
No more—no more upon thy verdant slopes i No more! alas! that magical sad sound
Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more, Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"
By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule— From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space — out of Time.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
By the lakes that thus outspread
There the traveller meets aghast
For the heart whose woes are legion
By a route obscure and lonely,