Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; Where the salt weed sways in the stream.
But there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that isgone: The pansyat my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
If mine had been the painter's hand, To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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