Thine is the mystic melody, The far-off murmur of some dreamland sea Lifting throughout the night, Up to the moon’s mild light, Waves silver-lustrous, silvery-white, That beat in rhythm on the shadowy shore, And burst in music, and are seen no more.
Coleridge
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Where in its old historic splendor stands The home of England’s far-farmed Parliament, And waters of the Thames in calm content At England’s fame flow slowly o’er their sands; And where the Rhine past vine-entwined lands Courses in castled beauty, there I went; And far to Southern rivers, flower...
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Thine is the mystic melody, The far-off murmur of some dreamland sea Lifting throughout the night, Up to the moon’s mild light, Waves silver-lustrous, silvery-white, That beat in rhythm on the shadowy shore, And burst in music, and are seen no more.