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 spaceSought the fingers of my hand;Your eyes flashed to mine; I knewAll was well between us two.On from dream to dream I past,But the first sweet vision castMystic radiance o'er the last.
Once in the dream of a night I stoodLone in the light of a magical wood,Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowedIn that magical wood in the land of sleep.Lone in the light of that magical grove,I felt the stars of the spirits of LoveGather and gleam round my delicate youth,And I heard the song of the spirits of Truth;To quench my longing I bent me lowBy the streams of the spirits of Peace that flowIn that magical wood in the land of sleep.
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn :It listens, listens. Taller trees beyondListen. The moon at the unruffled pondStares. And you sing, you sing.That star-enchanted song falls through the airFrom lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground ;While all the night you sing.My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee,As all night long I listen, and my brainReceives your song, then loses it againIn moonlight on the lawn.Now is your voice a marble high and white,Then like a mist on fields of paradise ;Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,Then breaks, and it is dawn.