at the sounds of singing voices on water!—that burn it with mad-fire.
"How surely come the wild, sweet meanings of the outer air into the depths of the half-conscious soul!—but burn it with mad-fire.
"How madly happy is the half-conscious soul in still hours at sight of a solitary pine-tree upon the mountain-top!—that burns it with mad-fire.
"How tenderly comes Truth to the half-conscious soul in the dead watches of the night!—but burns it with mad-fire.
"Life is vivid, alert, telling to the half-conscious soul," said Annabel Lee.
"You," said Annabel Lee, "with your half-conscious soul, when you sit where the gray waves wash the sea-wall at high-tide, when you sit listening with your head bent and your hands dead cold, you think you realize your life—you think you know its hardness—you think you have
