herald

Friday 20 October 2017

I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face

from The Dead Poet

I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face

All radiant and unshadowed of distress,

And as of old, in music measureless,

I heard his golden voice and marked him trace

Under the common thing the hidden grace,

And conjure wonder out of emptiness

Till mean things put on beauty like a dress

And all the world was an enchanted place.

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