 | Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy |  |
79
A Dream.
Last night thro' a haunted land I went,
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
And passing, hearing never stir
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
And then I came upon a stone
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
And then I knew that I was dead,
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
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