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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sound of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims. |