HAD I the gold that some so vainly spend, For my lost loves a temple would I raise, A shrine for each dear name: there should ascend Incense for ever, and hymns of golden praise; And I would live the remnant of my days, Where hallowed windows cast their painted gleams, At prayer before each consecrated face, Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams. And each fair altar, like a priest, I'd tend, Trimming the tapers to a constant blaze, And to each lovely and beloved friend Garlands I'd bring, and virginal soft sprays From April's bodice, and moon-breasted May's, And there should be a sound for ever of streams And birds 'mid happy leaves in that still place, -- Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams. O'er missals of hushed memories would I bend, And thrilling scripts of bosom-scented phrase, Telling of love that never hath an end, And sacred relics of wonder-working grace, Strands of bright hair, and tender webs of lace, Press to my lips -- until the Present seems The Past again to my ensorcelled gaze, -- Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams. ENVOI Princesses unforgot, your lover lays His heart upon your altars, and he deems He treads again the fair love-haunted ways -- Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WORLD'S WORTH by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO THE VERS LIBRIST WHO USES ONLY THE MINOR KEY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE FIRST CANTO, OR NEW MOON by WILLIAM BASSE PORTRAIT SONNETS: 3 by HENRY BELLAMANN TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY MEMORY OF THE FAIREST AND MOST VIRTUOUS LADY by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |