The Dream.
When night’s sable wing shades the hour of repose,1
And the bright stars of heaven are watching the earth,2
And Fancy a pilgrim to Fairyland goes,3
To give to her brightest creations their birth :4
I dreamt that I roamed in a far-distant land,5
Where the orange-tree grows, and the green myrtle waves,6
And bright pearls are strewn on the gold-coloured strand7
Whilst the purest of gems star its emerald caves.8
In the evergreen bowers of that Orient clime—9
Most gorgeous in plumage, and lovely in song—10
Were golden-winged birds whose sweet voices kept time11
To the voice of the waters that murmured along.12
Every bright hue that rainbow or sunset has shown,13
Every perfume the light wings of Zephyr can bear,14
Every sweet tone that music can claim as its own,15
In the fulness and freshness of beauty were there !16
These stole o’er the sense like the balm of the rose,17
Or the bulbul’s sweet song when his own love he sings,18
But no one was there to whom hearts might disclose19
The emotions called forth by such beautiful things,20
And I felt that in Paradise bliss might not be,21
If Love did not form its most exquisite flower,22
But on earth every spot were celestial to me,23
If my Mary were there to lend joy to the hour.24