THE DREAM.
41
Behold! a vision there,
where the slant moonlight floods the fragrant air,—
A dreaming marble face
Exquisite in its grace,
Gentle and young and fair,
Amid its luminous waves of flowing hair;
A brow with earnest meaning softly fraught,
Bowed in a trance of tl?ought,
As though, enraptured by some vision rare,
Some picture in the air,
The musing eyes see what is else unseen;
And while it lingers there,
The beautiful lips serene
Seem parting unaware
To utter softly, "Stay! thou art so fair!"
where the slant moonlight floods the fragrant air,—
A dreaming marble face
Exquisite in its grace,
Gentle and young and fair,
Amid its luminous waves of flowing hair;
A brow with earnest meaning softly fraught,
Bowed in a trance of tl?ought,
As though, enraptured by some vision rare,
Some picture in the air,
The musing eyes see what is else unseen;
And while it lingers there,
The beautiful lips serene
Seem parting unaware
To utter softly, "Stay! thou art so fair!"
This is the Artist's Dream,
This sweet and noble face. Does it not seem
A word might break the charm,—
Might startle the dropped lids with quick alarm,
Might wake warm color in the snowy cheek
And make the Dreamer speak?
This sweet and noble face. Does it not seem
A word might break the charm,—
Might startle the dropped lids with quick alarm,
Might wake warm color in the snowy cheek
And make the Dreamer speak?
Nay, breathe more softly,—hush!
Did not the rare lips move?
Did not the rare lips move?
