On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY, The Star-spangled Banner.

~~~~~~~~~~

I was all ear

And took in strains that might create a soul

Under the ribs of death.

JOHN MILTON, Comus.