Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! br Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. br Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week br Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, br Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun br Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek br Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek br Of voices utterless, which rave and run br Through all the star-penumbra, craving light br And tidings of the dawn from East and West. br Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest br With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night br Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright br Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast.