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XLIII.

I gazed, with unaccustomed eyes, on night,

Whose blackness dazzled more than midday sun,

It rather seem’d, some new intenser light,

Through which immortal powers, far wandering, run:

I gazed, and hurled my curses at the rage,

That traced its will on such a reckless course;

Methought, a golden form of light did cage

My utterance’ portals, strengthening vision’s source;

And, fool, it cried, look nearer, nor despair.

I saw, ’twas, as the thunder-cloud, that burst

Is glorious with the lightning, a child’s hair

Within whose gold entwined sunbeams are nurst,

No cradle else so sweet; it was the breath

Whose loveliness of life scares dreary death.

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XLIV.

Dreams, visions, foolish echoings to the thought,

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