2.
by Edgar Allan Poe
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
Part of Communion with Nature
Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er.
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told—or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more,
That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass
As dew of the night-time o'er the summer grass?