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Sonnet XXVIII.

Topics: classic

The edge of the green wave whitely doth hiss     Upon the wetted sand. I look, yet dream.     Surely reality cannot be this!     Somehow, somewhere this surely doth but seem!     The sky, the sea, this great extent disclosed     Of outward joy, this bulk of life we feel,     Is not something, but something interposed.     Only what in this is not this is real.     If this be to have sense, if to be awake     Be but to see this bright, great sleep of things,     For the rarer potion mine own dreams I'll take     And for truth commune with imaginings,         Holding a dream too bitter, a too fair curse,         This common sleep of men, the universe.

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"The edge of the green wave whitely doth hiss..."

Fernando Antnio Nogueira Pessoa's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Sonnet XXVIII."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

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"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

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