DREAMS.

My thoughts have borne me far away

To Beauties of an older day,

Where, crowned with roses, stands the DAWN,

Striking her seven-stringed barbiton

Of flame, whose chords give being to

The seven colours, hue for hue;

The music of the colour-dream

She builds the day from, beam by beam.

My thoughts have borne me far away

To Myths of a diviner day,

Where, sitting on the mountain, NOON

Sings to the pines a sun-soaked tune

Of rest and shade and clouds and skies,

Wherein her calm dreams idealize

Light as a presence, heavenly fair,

Sleeping with all her beauty bare.

My thoughts have borne me far away

To Visions of a wiser day,

Where, stealing through the wilderness,

NIGHT walks, a sad-eyed votaress,

And prays with mystic words she hears

Behind the thunder of the spheres,

The starry utterance that's hers,

With which she fills the Universe.