Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre，
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours， from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain， and fire， and hail will burst： oh， hear！
III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean， where he lay，
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams，
Beside a Pumice Isle in Baiae’s bay，
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day，
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet， the sense faints picturing them！ Thou