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We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soonNight closes round, and they are lost forever:Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant stringsGive various response to each varying blastTo whose frail frame no second motion bringsOne mood or modulation like the last.We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep;We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day;