<poem> And drowsy, dreamy, more and more, I floated from the twilight shore Over the vague vast sea of sleep, Just conscious of the rest so deep; Not sinking to the under caves, But rocking on the surface waves. When fitfully some muffled sound Came from the crowded streets around, It brought no thought of restless life With wakeful care and passionate strife; But seemed the booming of a bell Sweetly ringing tumult's knell, Slowly chiming far away The euthanasia of the day. And then unsummoned by my will Came floating through this mood so still The scenes of all my life's past range, In perfect pictures, fair and strange, As flowers limned in purest light Upon a background such as might Expand beneath some forest-screen After the sunset, goldbrowngreen. And then I heard on every side The shadowy rustling slow and wide Of night's dim curtains softly drawn To hush the world asleep till dawn. I heard the rustling, and my eyes Were curtained with the curtained skies; <poem>
Page:The poetical works of James Thomson (1895), Volume 1.djvu/110
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