She fills her hours with fantasy, to keep The great hour silent: blossom-loves that fall Unmourned, pleasures of labour prodigal, And careless woes eager for tears to weep -- Ripples on the unfathomable deep, Flashing with foam and sunshine, musical With lisping reeds and prattling shallows -- all Busily alive; and all that life one sleep. Laughter, and merry memories, and sweet breath Of days made rich by many a brief desire -- These are her dreams. Their glimmering veils are drawn Where (O, tread softly!) herself hides beneath.... Hush! ... Woman, with her soul of song and fire, Slumbering quietly before the dawn. |