A VISION.
She hovers round my dreams!Like the soft early beams,When day-light through my lattice streams,Thoughts of her beauty greet my waking hours;Like fragrance stolen by zephyr from the flowers,Or odors from the spice-trees pressed by showersWhich fall in summer timeIn that delicious clime,—Told in melodious chimeBy Eastern poets—where the bulbul singsAnd flutters near the rose his charmed wings.—On my delightful sense her memory steals,And the deep fountain of my heart unseals!And ofttimes, Fancy, gentle sprite, revealsHer winning smile, her form of artless grace,So like to life, so perfect and so fair,That, with a magic pencil, I could traceHer picture on the air!Yes! Fancy is the Ariel of my mind—And I, like Prospero, in a lonely isleFar distant from the world’s dominions,My solitary days and nights beguileIn sending out, swift as careering wind,My messenger with starry pinions—That he may speed and findThe shapes and hues of beauty which adornThe land, the unreal land where he was born!Oh then, what strange enchantment I behold!A Fairy palace, built of pearls and goldUpon a slope of emerald. Myriads swarmAbout the portal—myriad creatures brightAs the intensest lightOf phosphor flame—small as the motes that rise,When the sun’s beam comes warmFrom its far throne in the uncurtained skies.Among the elves and fairies moves their queen;Tell me, dear Fancy, delicate Ariel—say,Have I not oft a like expression seen,An eye, a brow, illumined by a rayAs pure and soft? Oh, take the misty screenThat hides the vision from my view away!Alas! the whole has faded,And sober Truth has shadedThe radiance of shapes and hues ideal;Yet, inthatloveliest face,My wakened mind can traceHow perfect a resemblance to the real!
She hovers round my dreams!Like the soft early beams,When day-light through my lattice streams,Thoughts of her beauty greet my waking hours;Like fragrance stolen by zephyr from the flowers,Or odors from the spice-trees pressed by showersWhich fall in summer timeIn that delicious clime,—Told in melodious chimeBy Eastern poets—where the bulbul singsAnd flutters near the rose his charmed wings.—On my delightful sense her memory steals,And the deep fountain of my heart unseals!And ofttimes, Fancy, gentle sprite, revealsHer winning smile, her form of artless grace,So like to life, so perfect and so fair,That, with a magic pencil, I could traceHer picture on the air!Yes! Fancy is the Ariel of my mind—And I, like Prospero, in a lonely isleFar distant from the world’s dominions,My solitary days and nights beguileIn sending out, swift as careering wind,My messenger with starry pinions—That he may speed and findThe shapes and hues of beauty which adornThe land, the unreal land where he was born!Oh then, what strange enchantment I behold!A Fairy palace, built of pearls and goldUpon a slope of emerald. Myriads swarmAbout the portal—myriad creatures brightAs the intensest lightOf phosphor flame—small as the motes that rise,When the sun’s beam comes warmFrom its far throne in the uncurtained skies.Among the elves and fairies moves their queen;Tell me, dear Fancy, delicate Ariel—say,Have I not oft a like expression seen,An eye, a brow, illumined by a rayAs pure and soft? Oh, take the misty screenThat hides the vision from my view away!Alas! the whole has faded,And sober Truth has shadedThe radiance of shapes and hues ideal;Yet, inthatloveliest face,My wakened mind can traceHow perfect a resemblance to the real!
She hovers round my dreams!Like the soft early beams,When day-light through my lattice streams,Thoughts of her beauty greet my waking hours;Like fragrance stolen by zephyr from the flowers,Or odors from the spice-trees pressed by showersWhich fall in summer timeIn that delicious clime,—Told in melodious chimeBy Eastern poets—where the bulbul singsAnd flutters near the rose his charmed wings.—On my delightful sense her memory steals,And the deep fountain of my heart unseals!And ofttimes, Fancy, gentle sprite, revealsHer winning smile, her form of artless grace,So like to life, so perfect and so fair,That, with a magic pencil, I could traceHer picture on the air!Yes! Fancy is the Ariel of my mind—And I, like Prospero, in a lonely isleFar distant from the world’s dominions,My solitary days and nights beguileIn sending out, swift as careering wind,My messenger with starry pinions—That he may speed and findThe shapes and hues of beauty which adornThe land, the unreal land where he was born!Oh then, what strange enchantment I behold!A Fairy palace, built of pearls and goldUpon a slope of emerald. Myriads swarmAbout the portal—myriad creatures brightAs the intensest lightOf phosphor flame—small as the motes that rise,When the sun’s beam comes warmFrom its far throne in the uncurtained skies.Among the elves and fairies moves their queen;Tell me, dear Fancy, delicate Ariel—say,Have I not oft a like expression seen,An eye, a brow, illumined by a rayAs pure and soft? Oh, take the misty screenThat hides the vision from my view away!Alas! the whole has faded,And sober Truth has shadedThe radiance of shapes and hues ideal;Yet, inthatloveliest face,My wakened mind can traceHow perfect a resemblance to the real!
She hovers round my dreams!
Like the soft early beams,
When day-light through my lattice streams,
Thoughts of her beauty greet my waking hours;
Like fragrance stolen by zephyr from the flowers,
Or odors from the spice-trees pressed by showers
Which fall in summer time
In that delicious clime,—
Told in melodious chime
By Eastern poets—where the bulbul sings
And flutters near the rose his charmed wings.—
On my delightful sense her memory steals,
And the deep fountain of my heart unseals!
And ofttimes, Fancy, gentle sprite, reveals
Her winning smile, her form of artless grace,
So like to life, so perfect and so fair,
That, with a magic pencil, I could trace
Her picture on the air!
Yes! Fancy is the Ariel of my mind—
And I, like Prospero, in a lonely isle
Far distant from the world’s dominions,
My solitary days and nights beguile
In sending out, swift as careering wind,
My messenger with starry pinions—
That he may speed and find
The shapes and hues of beauty which adorn
The land, the unreal land where he was born!
Oh then, what strange enchantment I behold!
A Fairy palace, built of pearls and gold
Upon a slope of emerald. Myriads swarm
About the portal—myriad creatures bright
As the intensest light
Of phosphor flame—small as the motes that rise,
When the sun’s beam comes warm
From its far throne in the uncurtained skies.
Among the elves and fairies moves their queen;
Tell me, dear Fancy, delicate Ariel—say,
Have I not oft a like expression seen,
An eye, a brow, illumined by a ray
As pure and soft? Oh, take the misty screen
That hides the vision from my view away!
Alas! the whole has faded,
And sober Truth has shaded
The radiance of shapes and hues ideal;
Yet, inthatloveliest face,
My wakened mind can trace
How perfect a resemblance to the real!