The Secret Splendour

Where the mountains cast their shadow,

There let us lie:

 When the eyes fall shut in that shadow.

Sleep comes from the sky.

Out of the shackled regions

Under our feet

Strains then no groping spectre

To blind the frail heartbeat.

Drawn from the air that is haunted

By calm hill-crest,

 A secret crown is our slumber—

And a god wakes in our breast.

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