Amid a crowd of jesting, fluttering people, a single figure remains calm and silent. That person comes near, briefly clasps the speaker’s hand, and their eyes flash together. In that instant, the speaker knows all is well between them—a silent, perfect understanding. The dream moves on, but that first moment casts a gentle radiance over everything that follows. On waking, the early-morning room is still and shadowy. The dream lingers, not as a clear memory, but like a faint perfume—the trace of rose attar in an empty flask, or amber beads that have lain among rose petals and now carry the scent. The speaker’s feeling is tender, wistful, and a little sad: the dream offered a reassurance that daylight cannot sustain. The mood is intimate, hushed, full of longing for a closeness that only the night allowed.
The Dream — Summary
Believe me, this was true last night, Tho' it is false to-day. -- A.M.F. Robinson.
A fair dream to my chamber flew: Such a crowd of folk that stirred, Jested, fluttered; only you, You alone of all that band, Calm and silent, spake no word. Only once you neared my place, And your hand one moment's space Sought the fingers of my hand; Your eyes flashed to mine; I knew All was well between us two.
On from dream to dream I past, But the first sweet vision cast Mystic radiance o'er the last.
When I woke the pale night lay Still, expectant of the day; All about the chamber hung Tender shade of twilight gloom; The fair dream hovered round me, clung To my thought like faint perfume:-- Like sweet odours, such as cling To the void flask, which erst encloses Attar of rose; or the pale string Of amber which has lain with roses.