Poem – Imitation 

A dark unfathomed tide 

Of interminable pride – 

A mystery, and a dream, 

Should my early life seem; 

I say that dream was fraught 

With a wild and waking thought 

Of beings that have been, 

Which my spirit hath not seen, 

Had I let them pass me by, 

With a dreaming eye! 

Let none of earth inherit 

That vision of my spirit; 

Those thoughts I would control, 

As a spell upon his soul: 

For that bright hope at last 

And that light time have past, 

And my worldly rest hath gone 

With a sigh as it passed on: 

I care not though it perish 

With a thought I then did cherish 

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