150
A SHEAF GLEANED
'Fair moon and stars no longer hide,'
My foolish hope renounced, I cry;
And by degrees the waves subside,
Once more the picture in the tide
Is mirrored—oh so gloriously!
Shall I again attempt, I think,
To seize the mirage as before?
Ah no! But leaning on the brink,
The calm that late I drank shall drink,
And dream, and dream for evermore.
