Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DREAM, by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DREAM, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Last night, my love, I dreamed of thee
Last Line: "god bless thee, love, -- good morning!"
Alternate Author Name(s): Greenwood, Grace
Subject(s): Dreams; Nightmares


LAST night, my love, I dreamed of thee,
Yet 't was no dream Elysian:
Draw closer to my breast, dear Blanche,
The while I tell the vision.
Methought that I had left thee long,
And, home in haste returning,
My heart, lip, cheek, with love and joy
And wild impatience burning, --
I called thee through the silent house;
But here, at last, I found thee,
Where, deathly still and ghostly white,
The curtains fell around thee.
Dead! -- dead thou wert! Cold lay that form,
In rarest beauty moulded,
And meekly, o'er thy still, white breast
The snowy hands were folded.
Methought thy couch was fitly strewn
With many a fragrant blossom;
Fresh violets thy fingers clasped,
And rose-buds decked thy bosom:
But thine eyes, so like young violets,
Might smile upon me never --
And the rose-bloom from thy cheek and lip
Had fled away for ever!
I raised thee lovingly, thy head
Against my bosom leaning,
And called thy name, and spoke to thee
In words of tenderest meaning.
I sought to warm thee at my breast,
My arms close round thee flinging;
To breathe my life into thy lips,
With kisses fond and clinging.
O hour of fearful agony!
In vain my frenzied pleading!
Thy dear voice hushed, thy kind eye closed,
My lonely grief unheeding!
Pale wert thou as the lily-buds
Twined 'mid thy raven tresses,
And cold thy lip and still thy heart
To all my wild caresses!
I woke, amid the autumn night,
To hear the rain descending,
And roar of waves and howl of winds
In stormy concert blending.
But, O, my waking joy was morn,
From heaven's own portals flowing!
And the summer of thy living love
Was round about me glowing!
I woke, -- ah, blessedness! -- to feel
Thy white arms round me wreathing, --
To hear, amid the lonely night,
Thy calm and gentle breathing!
I bent above thy rest till morn,
With many a whispered blessing;
Soft, timid kisses on thy lips
And blue-veined eyelids pressing.
While thus, from slumber's shadowy realm,
Thy truant soul recalling,
Thou couldst not know whence sprang the tears
Upon thy forehead falling.
And, O, thine eyes' sweet wonderment,
When thou didst ope them slowly,
To mark mine own bent on thy face
In rapture deep and holy!
Thou couldst not know, till I had told
That dream of fearful warning,
How much of heaven was in my words, --
"God bless thee, love, -- good morning!"






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