Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls; <br />The wastes of sleep thou makest fair; <br />Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls <br />The cataract of thy hair. <br /> <br />The morn renews its golden birth: <br />Thou with the vanquished night dost fade; <br />And leav'st the ponderable earth <br />Less real than thy shade.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thy-voice-from-inmost-dreamland-calls/
