Hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires.

That sweet city with her dreaming spires.

My brainWorked with a dim and undetermined senseOf unknown modes of being.

This stage can be defined as a place where Shakespeare murdered Hamlet, and a great many Hamlets have since murdered Shakespeare

This life's dim windows of the soulDistorts the heavens from pole to poleAnd leads you to believe a lieWhen you see with, not through, the eye.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have s