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Ligeia! whatever
Thy image may be,
No magic shall sever
Thy music from thee.
Thou hast bound many eyes
In a dreamy sleep--
But the strains still arise
Which thy vigilance keep--
The sound of the rain
Which leaps down to the flower,
And dances again
In the rhythm of the shower--
†The murmur that springs
From the growing of grass
*
*
The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing.
* I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am
now unable to obtain and quote from memory:--"The verie
essence and, as it were, springe-heade, and origine of all
musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of
the forest do make when they growe."
Are the music of things--
But are modell'd, alas!--
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