The Garden of Dreams Part 6

PICTURED

This is the face of her I've dreamed of long; Here in my heart's despair, This is the face of her Pictured in song.

Look on the lily lids, The eyes of dawn, Deep as a Nereid's, Swimming with dewy lids In waters wan.

Look on the brows of snow, The locks brown-bright; Only young sleep can show Such brows of placid snow, Such locks of night.

The cheeks, like rosy moons, The lips of fire; Love thinks no sweeter tunes Under enchanted moons Than their desire.

Loved lips and eyes and hair, Lo, this is she!

She, who sits smiling there Over my heart's despair, Never for me!

SERENADE

The pink rose drops its petals on The moonlit lawn, the moonlit lawn; The moon, like some wide rose of white, Drops down the summer night.

No rose there is As sweet as this-- Thy mouth, that greets me with a kiss.

The lattice of thy cas.e.m.e.nt twines With jasmine vines, with jasmine vines; The stars, like jasmine blossoms, lie About the glimmering sky.

No jasmine tress Can so caress As thy white arms' soft loveliness.

About thy door magnolia blooms Make sweet the glooms, make sweet the glooms; A moon-magnolia is the dusk Closed in a dewy husk.

However much, No bloom gives such Soft fragrance as thy bosom's touch.

The flowers, blooming now, shall pa.s.s, And strew the gra.s.s, and strew the gra.s.s; The night, like some frail flower, dawn Shall soon make gray and wan.

Still, still above, The flower of True love shall live forever, love.

KINs.h.i.+P

I.

There is no flower of wood or lea, No April flower, as fair as she: O white anemone, who hast The wind's wild grace, Know her a cousin of thy race, Into whose face A presence like the wind's hath pa.s.sed.

II.

There is no flower of wood or lea, No Maytime flower, as fair as she: O bluebell, tender with the blue Of limpid skies, Thy lineage hath kindred ties In her, whose eyes The heav'n's own qualities imbue.

III.

There is no flower of wood or lea, No Juneday flower, as fair as she: Rose,--odorous with beauty of Life's first and best,-- Behold thy sister here confessed!

Whose maiden breast Is fragrant with the dreams of love.

SHE IS SO MUCH

She is so much to me, to me, And, oh! I love her so, I look into my soul and see How comfort keeps me company In hopes she, too, may know.

I love her, I love her, I love her, This I know.

So dear she is to me, so dear, And, oh! I love her so, I listen in my heart and hear The voice of gladness singing near In thoughts she, too, may know.

I love her, I love her, I love her, This I know.

So much she is to me, so much, And, oh! I love her so, In heart and soul I feel the touch Of angel callers, that are such Dreams as she, too, may know.

I love her, I love her, I love her, This I know.

HER EYES

In her dark eyes dreams poetize; The soul sits lost in love: There is no thing in all the skies, To gladden all the world I prize, Like the deep love in her dark eyes, Or one sweet dream thereof.

In her dark eyes, where thoughts arise, Her soul's soft moods I see: Of hope and faith, that make life wise; And charity, whose food is sighs-- Not truer than her own true eyes Is truth's divinity.

In her dark eyes the knowledge lies Of an immortal sod, Her soul once trod in angel-guise, Nor can forget its heavenly ties, Since, there in Heaven, upon her eyes Once gazed the eyes of G.o.d.

MESSENGERS

The wind, that gives the rose a kiss With murmured music of the south, Hath kissed a sweeter thing than this,-- The wind, that gives the rose a kiss-- The perfume of her mouth.

The brook, that mirrors skies and trees, And echoes in a grottoed place, Hath held a fairer thing than these,-- The brook, that mirrors skies and trees,-- The image of her face.

O happy wind! O happy brook!

So dear before, so free of cares!

How dearer since her kiss and look,-- O happy wind! O happy brook!-- Have blessed you unawares!