Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream
Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind
Walks o’er it, was she shaken by the dream,
The mystical Usurper of the mind—
O’erpowering us to be whate’er may seem
Good to the soul which we no more can bind;
Strange state of being! (for ’tis still to be)
Senseless to feel, and with sealed eyes to see.