THE moon grew sad. The tear-stained seraphim Adream drew with their bows amid the dim Mist of calm flowers from failing viol-strings White grief that to the azure petal clings. -- You had first kissed me on that blessed day. My thought in its strange, self-tormenting way Felt all the subtle melancholy sting Which, even without regret, the gathering Of any dream leaves in the dreamer's heart. Mine eyes fixed on the stones I walked apart When, with your sunny hair, in that old street And in the gloom you came with laughter sweet, Like to that fairy with great aureole Who once, in dreams of childhood, touched my soul, And who from half-closed hands would ever throw Clusters of fragrant stars like gleaming snow. |