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The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead, As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and
An eagle alit one moment may sit
Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
Build up the blue dome of air,
I arise and unbuild it again.
"Oh, save me! Oh, guide me! And bid the deep hide me, For he grasps me now by the hair!" The loud Ocean heard, To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water
The Earth's white daughter
Behind her descended
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.