Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof The stars peep behind her and... Class-book of English poetry - Page 300by English poetry - 1866Full view
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Rodney Farnsworth - Literary Criticism - 2001 - 349 pages
...Which only the angels hear. May have hroken the woof of my tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer: And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. Like a swarm of golden bees. When 1 widen the rent in my wind,buiIt tent. Till the calm rivers. lakes. and seas. Like strips of the sky...