Poem by William Watson

* * *

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.

1. Liberty Rejected
2. Well He Slumbers, Greatly Slain
3. The Mock Self
4. The Russ at Kara
5. The Battle of the Bight

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