Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls;
The wastes of sleep thou makest fair;
Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls
The cataract of thy hair.
The morn renews its golden birth:
Thou with the vanquished night dost fade;
And leav'st the ponderable earth
Less real than thy shade.
Thy Voice From Inmost Dreamland Calls
William Watson
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Poem topics: birth, hair, night, sleep, voice, earth, real, shade, bright, golden, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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