The Music of Sleep

By George Sterling

What crown of dews and opals Morning wore
  I knew not, taken in the toils of Sleep;
  For mine it was the ways profound to keep
Where seas of dream break on a phantom shore
To mysteries of music evermore.
  There shone no star on headland nor on steep,
  And past the vague horizon of that deep
On isles unknown I heard its billows roar.

Eastward the everlasting fountains welled
  Till o'er my rest the dayspring's golden tide
    On hills that are and nearer seas was whirled;
But sealed within my haunted brows I held
  The forms that pass, the shadows that abide,
    And music of the soul's dim under-world.

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