Ye gentlemen of EnglandThat live at home at ease,Ah! little do you think uponThe dangers of the seas.
Still as the holy of holies breathes the vastWithin its crystal depths the stars grow dim;Fire on the altar of the hills at lastBurns on the shadowy rim.Moments that holds all moments; white uponThe verge it trembles; then like mists of flowersBreak from the fairy fountain of the dawnThe hues of many hours.george william russell
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