A FANTASY

A fantasy that came to me

As wild and wantonly designed

As ever any dream might be

Unraveled from a madman's mind,—

A tangle-work of tissue, wrought

By cunning of the spider-brain,

And woven, in an hour of pain,

To trap the giddy flies of thought.

I stood beneath a summer moon

All swollen to uncanny girth,

And hanging, like the sun at noon,

Above the center of the earth;

But with a sad and sallow light,

As it had sickened of the night

And fallen in a pallid swoon.

Around me I could hear the rush

Of sullen winds, and feel the whir

Of unseen wings apast me brush

Like phantoms round a sepulcher;

And, like a carpeting of plush,

A lawn unrolled beneath my feet,

Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet

To look upon as those that nod

Within the garden-fields of God,

But odorless as those that blow

In ashes in the shades below.

And on my hearing fell a storm

Of gusty music, sadder yet

Than every whimper of regret

That sobbing utterance could form,

And patched with scraps of sound that seemed

Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed,

And pitched to such a piercing key,

It stabbed the ear with agony;

And when at last it lulled and died,

I stood aghast and terrified.

I shuddered and I shut my eyes,

And still could see, and feel aware

Some mystic presence waited there;

And staring, with a dazed surprise,

I saw a creature so divine

That never subtle thought of mine

May reproduce to inner sight

So fair a vision of delight.

A syllable of dew that drips

From out a lily's laughing lips

Could not be sweeter than the word

I listened to, yet never heard.—

For, oh, the woman hiding there

Within the shadows of her hair,

Spake to me in an undertone

So delicate, my soul alone

But understood it as a moan

Of some weak melody of wind

A heavenward breeze had left behind.

A tracery of trees, grotesque

Against the sky, behind her seen,

Like shapeless shapes of arabesque

Wrought in an Oriental screen;

And tall, austere and statuesque

She loomed before it — e'en as though

The spirit-hand of Angelo

Had chiseled her to life complete,

With chips of moonshine round her feet.

And I grew jealous of the dusk,

To see it softly touch her face,

As lover-like, with fond embrace,

It folded round her like a husk:

But when the glitter of her hand,

Like wasted glory, beckoned me,

My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim —

My vision failed — I could not see —

I could not stir — I could but stand,

Till, quivering in every limb,

I flung me prone, as though to swim

The tide of grass whose waves of green

Went rolling ocean-wide between

My helpless shipwrecked heart and her

Who claimed me for a worshiper.

And writhing thus in my despair,

I heard a weird, unearthly sound,

That seemed to lift me from the ground

And hold me floating in the air.

I looked, and lo! I saw her bow

Above a harp within her hands;

A crown of blossoms bound her brow,

And on her harp were twisted strands

Of silken starlight, rippling o'er

With music never heard before

By mortal ears; and, at the strain,

I felt my Spirit snap its chain

And break away,— and I could see

It as it turned and fled from me

To greet its mistress, where she smiled

To see the phantom dancing wild

And wizard-like before the spell

Her mystic fingers knew so well.