Last night I roamed within the dream-confine
That, as a word of magic, strange, unsaid,
Is barrier to the thoughts of day. My tread
Was toward the morn, from whose unclouded shine
Came music, seen and heard in pageantry—
Loud as the ocean's thunder tempest-bred,
Yet fair and delicate as flowers that shed
Their scent on meadows coloured like the sea.

I heard and saw the music of all things —
Their sound-soul visible, that as a dawn,
For one age-moment bared the spirit's night.
Then, with prismatic notes, and voice of light,
And sounds and hues inseparable for wings,
The music-vision faded and was gone.