THEODORE ARNOLD HAULTAIN
ONLY in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea;In the scent of the rose, the breath of the spring,The cloud of the summer, glistening;In the sound of an orient forest dim,Scarce heard far off on ocean's rimBy wondering traveller who descriesNaught of all its mysteries;In the wash of the wave, the sigh of the sea,The laughter of leaves on the wind-tossed tree.Her hair is the dusk of an autumn night,Her brow the moonbeam's pallid light,Her voice is the voice of the wind and the wave,When the breeze blows low and the ripples laveThe feet of a wooded mountain hoarRising on southern storied shore.The breath from between her hallowed lipsIs the breath exhaled from a rose that sipsThe dew on a lucid April day,Soft as the spring, as summer gay.In the flush of the early morning mist,Which the fervid sun has barely kissed,Far down in the balmy-breathing dale,I get a glimpse of her flimsy veil.In the glow of the lurid sunset hueI see the robe which her limbs shine through.On the grass-blade wet I see the tearsHer eyes have shed for our hopes and fears.Her eyes ... her eyes ... the infinite deepsOf the holiest heavens where God He keepsAll that is beautiful, good, and true—Her eyes are the infinite heaven's blue,Gazing in sad serenityOn restless, frail humanity.On softly-breathing evening still,Alone, where the whispering wayward rillTo the love-sick leaves, which gently dipLow down to kiss it, lip to lip,Tells secrets strange of love and pain,Which the leaves lisp back to it again,—Ah! then I dream that my love comes nigh,And think that I hear her softly sigh.Or when, on a windy summer day,(The golden sunshine-gleam on the bay)To me, ensconced far out on the highAnd rocky weed-strewn promontory,Come multitudinous sights and sounds—The rush of the boisterous wave which boundsFar up the cliff, the sea-bird's call,The flying spume, the cloudlets smallThat dance through the ether hand in hand—The joy suffused o'er the sea and the land,—Then, too, I dream that my love is near,And think that I catch her laughter clear.Only in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea.
ONLY in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea;In the scent of the rose, the breath of the spring,The cloud of the summer, glistening;In the sound of an orient forest dim,Scarce heard far off on ocean's rimBy wondering traveller who descriesNaught of all its mysteries;In the wash of the wave, the sigh of the sea,The laughter of leaves on the wind-tossed tree.Her hair is the dusk of an autumn night,Her brow the moonbeam's pallid light,Her voice is the voice of the wind and the wave,When the breeze blows low and the ripples laveThe feet of a wooded mountain hoarRising on southern storied shore.The breath from between her hallowed lipsIs the breath exhaled from a rose that sipsThe dew on a lucid April day,Soft as the spring, as summer gay.In the flush of the early morning mist,Which the fervid sun has barely kissed,Far down in the balmy-breathing dale,I get a glimpse of her flimsy veil.In the glow of the lurid sunset hueI see the robe which her limbs shine through.On the grass-blade wet I see the tearsHer eyes have shed for our hopes and fears.Her eyes ... her eyes ... the infinite deepsOf the holiest heavens where God He keepsAll that is beautiful, good, and true—Her eyes are the infinite heaven's blue,Gazing in sad serenityOn restless, frail humanity.On softly-breathing evening still,Alone, where the whispering wayward rillTo the love-sick leaves, which gently dipLow down to kiss it, lip to lip,Tells secrets strange of love and pain,Which the leaves lisp back to it again,—Ah! then I dream that my love comes nigh,And think that I hear her softly sigh.Or when, on a windy summer day,(The golden sunshine-gleam on the bay)To me, ensconced far out on the highAnd rocky weed-strewn promontory,Come multitudinous sights and sounds—The rush of the boisterous wave which boundsFar up the cliff, the sea-bird's call,The flying spume, the cloudlets smallThat dance through the ether hand in hand—The joy suffused o'er the sea and the land,—Then, too, I dream that my love is near,And think that I catch her laughter clear.Only in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea.
ONLY in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea;In the scent of the rose, the breath of the spring,The cloud of the summer, glistening;In the sound of an orient forest dim,Scarce heard far off on ocean's rimBy wondering traveller who descriesNaught of all its mysteries;In the wash of the wave, the sigh of the sea,The laughter of leaves on the wind-tossed tree.
ONLY in dreams she appears to me,
In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea;
In the scent of the rose, the breath of the spring,
The cloud of the summer, glistening;
In the sound of an orient forest dim,
Scarce heard far off on ocean's rim
By wondering traveller who descries
Naught of all its mysteries;
In the wash of the wave, the sigh of the sea,
The laughter of leaves on the wind-tossed tree.
Her hair is the dusk of an autumn night,Her brow the moonbeam's pallid light,Her voice is the voice of the wind and the wave,When the breeze blows low and the ripples laveThe feet of a wooded mountain hoarRising on southern storied shore.The breath from between her hallowed lipsIs the breath exhaled from a rose that sipsThe dew on a lucid April day,Soft as the spring, as summer gay.In the flush of the early morning mist,Which the fervid sun has barely kissed,Far down in the balmy-breathing dale,I get a glimpse of her flimsy veil.In the glow of the lurid sunset hueI see the robe which her limbs shine through.On the grass-blade wet I see the tearsHer eyes have shed for our hopes and fears.Her eyes ... her eyes ... the infinite deepsOf the holiest heavens where God He keepsAll that is beautiful, good, and true—Her eyes are the infinite heaven's blue,Gazing in sad serenityOn restless, frail humanity.On softly-breathing evening still,Alone, where the whispering wayward rillTo the love-sick leaves, which gently dipLow down to kiss it, lip to lip,Tells secrets strange of love and pain,Which the leaves lisp back to it again,—Ah! then I dream that my love comes nigh,And think that I hear her softly sigh.
Her hair is the dusk of an autumn night,
Her brow the moonbeam's pallid light,
Her voice is the voice of the wind and the wave,
When the breeze blows low and the ripples lave
The feet of a wooded mountain hoar
Rising on southern storied shore.
The breath from between her hallowed lips
Is the breath exhaled from a rose that sips
The dew on a lucid April day,
Soft as the spring, as summer gay.
In the flush of the early morning mist,
Which the fervid sun has barely kissed,
Far down in the balmy-breathing dale,
I get a glimpse of her flimsy veil.
In the glow of the lurid sunset hue
I see the robe which her limbs shine through.
On the grass-blade wet I see the tears
Her eyes have shed for our hopes and fears.
Her eyes ... her eyes ... the infinite deeps
Of the holiest heavens where God He keeps
All that is beautiful, good, and true—
Her eyes are the infinite heaven's blue,
Gazing in sad serenity
On restless, frail humanity.
On softly-breathing evening still,
Alone, where the whispering wayward rill
To the love-sick leaves, which gently dip
Low down to kiss it, lip to lip,
Tells secrets strange of love and pain,
Which the leaves lisp back to it again,—
Ah! then I dream that my love comes nigh,
And think that I hear her softly sigh.
Or when, on a windy summer day,(The golden sunshine-gleam on the bay)To me, ensconced far out on the highAnd rocky weed-strewn promontory,Come multitudinous sights and sounds—The rush of the boisterous wave which boundsFar up the cliff, the sea-bird's call,The flying spume, the cloudlets smallThat dance through the ether hand in hand—The joy suffused o'er the sea and the land,—Then, too, I dream that my love is near,And think that I catch her laughter clear.
Or when, on a windy summer day,
(The golden sunshine-gleam on the bay)
To me, ensconced far out on the high
And rocky weed-strewn promontory,
Come multitudinous sights and sounds—
The rush of the boisterous wave which bounds
Far up the cliff, the sea-bird's call,
The flying spume, the cloudlets small
That dance through the ether hand in hand—
The joy suffused o'er the sea and the land,—
Then, too, I dream that my love is near,
And think that I catch her laughter clear.
Only in dreams she appears to me,In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea.
Only in dreams she appears to me,
In dreams of the earth, and the sky, and the sea.