The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
 |
 |
|
A DREAM. |
|
 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
A DREAM.
I had a dream—a dream of happiness,
And when I rose up in my bed to bless
Him who had given it, my heart was glowing
With fancy's warmth, and tears of joy were flowing.
Methought that I was wandering in a land
I know not, and no voice, no hand,
Guided me in my path—but yet I went
Where earth was lovely, where fresh flowers were springing
Forth in their joyfulness, where birds were singing,
And beautiful rainbows in their richness blent
Formed the sweet sky above me.
And when I rose up in my bed to bless
Him who had given it, my heart was glowing
With fancy's warmth, and tears of joy were flowing.
265
I know not, and no voice, no hand,
Guided me in my path—but yet I went
Where earth was lovely, where fresh flowers were springing
Forth in their joyfulness, where birds were singing,
And beautiful rainbows in their richness blent
Formed the sweet sky above me.
A bower appeared
Twined with spring roses, and an olive reared
Her tender brow, and branches weeping dew
In soft luxuriance—bending vine-trees grew
Around that place of loveliness, and hung
Sheltering their clusters from the midlight beam.
A stream of peace, a clear and sparkling stream,
Flowed on its gentle course—though kingbirds sung,
And willows kissed its waves to woo their stay.
It seemed a dove came near on trembling wing,
And sought my bosom, and she nestled there
In peace, as if she were afraid to spring
Again on high—as if the fowler's snare
Were spread for her—
Twined with spring roses, and an olive reared
Her tender brow, and branches weeping dew
In soft luxuriance—bending vine-trees grew
Around that place of loveliness, and hung
Sheltering their clusters from the midlight beam.
A stream of peace, a clear and sparkling stream,
Flowed on its gentle course—though kingbirds sung,
And willows kissed its waves to woo their stay.
It seemed a dove came near on trembling wing,
And sought my bosom, and she nestled there
In peace, as if she were afraid to spring
Again on high—as if the fowler's snare
Were spread for her—
My dream is gone! but often still I hear
That stream's sweet music murmuring in my ear,
And feel that dove draw near my softening heart,
As she would cling there, never to depart.
That stream's sweet music murmuring in my ear,
And feel that dove draw near my softening heart,
As she would cling there, never to depart.
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |