And pangs of vague inexplicable pain
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hat pay the spirit’s ceaseless enterprise, Come thronging through the chambers of the brain,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes. Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?Through what strange realms and unfamiliar skiesTends her far course to lands of mystery? To lands unspeakable—beyond surmise, Where shapes unknowable to being spring, Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and diesMuch wearied with the spirit’s journeying,
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