XXIII


       She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs
       Out of the East, and follows wild and drear
       The golden Day, which, on eternal wings,
       Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,
       Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear
       So struck, so rous’d, so rapt Urania;
       So sadden’d round her like an atmosphere
       Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way
Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.

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