This sun, this fire, from heaven? He holds it shining in his soul, Prometheus the forgiven.
(II) THETIS
In her bright title poets dare What the wild eye of fancy sees -- Similitude -- the clear, the fair Light mystery of images.
Round the blue sea I love the best The argent foam played, slender, fleet; I saw -- past Wordsworth and the rest -- Her natural, Greek, and silver feet.
End of title
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