Often I have this strange and penetrating dream Of an unknown woman I love and who loves me, And each time she is neither quite the same Nor quite another, but she loves and understands. For she does understand, and my heart, lucid Alas, only for her, is a problem no longer, But only for her, and the fever of my pale brow Only by her can be cooled, as she weeps. Is she dark, fair, or red-haired? I know not. Her name? I remember it is sweet and singing Like those of loved ones whom Life has banished. Her gaze is like the gaze of statues, And her voice, distant, calm, and low, Has the inflection of dear voices that are stilled. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WALL STREET PIT, MAY, 1901 by EDWIN MARKHAM IN THE GARDEN AT THE DAWN HOUR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN GRANTCHESTER MEADOWS; ON HEARING A SKYLARK SING by GEORGE SANTAYANA CITY VIGNETTE: RAIN AT NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE |