But in the hazy precincts of a dream,
Soft-pacing, like a shade, erring I roam.
Go to, go to, ye winds with wasting moan,
And chase the shadows through the woody aisles,
And gild the sleep-drunk earth with slender beam,
Ye stars that watch the undulating sea!
While dimly I, with memory’s torch alight,
And fancy’s shifting prism, chase my will,
My own dear will, incessant through and through
The antique halls of the Past’s dusky dome.