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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536499" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536499" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He slept as only under the free heaven<br>It is given to sleep, a slumber shadowless<br>As the broad river to whose banks at even<br>That spirit comes which brings forgetfulness,<br>A silence undisturbed by the world's tread,<br>Which sees not, hears not, feels not, yet is girt<br>With sound and light and sense; which seeming dead<br>Drinks in Earth's life in cure of every hurt<br>And so takes consolation. Dreams anon<br>Come for the soul's refreshment, apparitions<br>Begot of heaven's beauty and the sun,<br>No meaningless expectance of sad visions<br>But tales prophetic of new days more fair<br>And to be numbered with the things that are,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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