Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head. And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool heart, that sinks through fading colors deep to the subaqueous stillness of the sea, and floats forever in a moon-green pool, held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
Neptune approaches Pisces. Ommmmmmmmmm.