This Is The Image Of My Last Content: My Soul Shall Be A Little Lonely Lake, So Hidden That No Shadow Of Man May Break The Folding Of Its Mountain Battlement; Only The Beautiful And Innocent Whiteness Of Sea-Born Cloud Drooping To Shake Cool Rain Upon The Reed-Beds, Or The Wake Of Churn'D Cloud In A Howling Wind'S Descent. For There Shall Be No Terror In The Night When Stars That I Have Loved Are Born In Me, And Cloudy Darkness I Will Hold Most Fair; But This Shall Be The End Of My Delight: That You, My Lovely One, May Stoop And See Your Image In The Mirrored Beauty There.