Prisoner, The

    I count time by months and years

    Since last I felt t,

    And t breathings summer-

    Met mine upon my lips. Noh appears

    As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres

    Or ts of . Natures lute

    Sounds on, be,

    A strange o the prisoners ears,

    Dilated by tance, till the brain

    Gro feels too

    h a visionary pain,

    Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine

    Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train

    Of sunlit ransfigured to Divine.