And hither, haply, thou wilt shape thy neck,
And settle, like a silvery cloud, to rest,
If thy wild image, flaring in the abyss,
Startle thee not aloft. Lone aeronaut,
That catchest, on thine airy looking-out,
Glassing the hollow darkness, many a lake,
Lay, for the night, thy lily bosom here,
There is the deep unsounded for thy bath,
The shallow for the shaking of thy plumes,
The dreamy cove, or cedar-wooded isle,