Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/IX.
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IX.
Sometimes, in the summer night,
Floating o'er the silent deep,
Did my fingers in their flight
Through the slumbering waters sweep.
Floating o'er the silent deep,
Did my fingers in their flight
Through the slumbering waters sweep.
Raising then my hand, I spied
Drops of ocean-fire and light
From my gleaming fingers slide,
Like the shooting-stars of night.
Drops of ocean-fire and light
From my gleaming fingers slide,
Like the shooting-stars of night.
Thus I dipped, with gliding thought
Thro' thy deep, mysterious soul;
Now, with light and fire full-fraught,
O'er me dazzling doth it roll.
Thro' thy deep, mysterious soul;
Now, with light and fire full-fraught,
O'er me dazzling doth it roll.