@3Author@1 A lovely form there sate beside my bed, And such a feeding calm its presence shed, A tender love so pure from earthly leaven That I unnethe the fancy might control, 'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven, Wooing its gentle way into my soul! But ah! the change -- It had not stirr'd, and yet -- Alas! that change how fain would I forget! That shrinking back, like one that had mistook! That weary, wandering, disavowing look! 'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame, And still, methought, I knew, it was the same! @3Friend@1 This riddling tale, to what does it belong? Is't history? vision? or an idle song? Or rather say at once, within what space Of time this wild disastrous change took place? @3Author@1 Call it a moment's work (and such it seems) This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams; But say, that years matur'd the silent strife, And 'tis a record from the dream of life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON TO JOSIAH ROYCE by BRENT DOW ALLINSON NEVERNESS, OR THE ONE SHIP BEACHED ON ONE FAR DISTANT SHORE by MARGARET AVISON ON THE TRAIN by RUTH NOEL BENNETT ONLY A CURL by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 14 by THOMAS CAMPION |