XXII

He will awake no more, oh, never more!
       “Wake thou,” cried Misery, “childless Mother, rise
       Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart’s core,
       A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs.”
       And all the Dreams that watch’d Urania’s eyes,
       And all the Echoes whom their sister’s song
       Had held in holy silence, cried: “Arise!”
       Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung,
From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.

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