 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
19
THE HEAVENLY VISION.
“If I be sure I am not dreaming now,
I should not doubt to say it was a dream.”—
Shelley.
I should not doubt to say it was a dream.”—
Shelley.
She met me in the spring-time of my years,
Where suns set golden in the azure west;
The sight of her dissolved my heart to tears—
It seemed she came from Heaven to make me blest.
Where suns set golden in the azure west;
The sight of her dissolved my heart to tears—
It seemed she came from Heaven to make me blest.
A golden Harp was in her snow-white hand,
And when she touched the strings, so softly prest,
The music seemed as from some Heavenly Band,
As though she came from Heaven to make me blest.
And when she touched the strings, so softly prest,
The music seemed as from some Heavenly Band,
As though she came from Heaven to make me blest.
Her eyes were of that soft, celestial blue
Which Heaven puts on when Day is in the West;
Whose words were soft as drops of evening dew—
It seemed she came from Heaven to make me blest.
Which Heaven puts on when Day is in the West;
Whose words were soft as drops of evening dew—
It seemed she came from Heaven to make me blest.
Long had we parted—long had she been dead—
When late, one night, when all had gone to rest,
Her spirit stood before me—near my bed—
She came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
When late, one night, when all had gone to rest,
Her spirit stood before me—near my bed—
She came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
As some fond Dove unto her own mate sings,
So sang she unto me, in my unrest,
(Who lay beneath the shadow of her wings)—
Of Heaven, wherein she told me she was blest.
So sang she unto me, in my unrest,
(Who lay beneath the shadow of her wings)—
Of Heaven, wherein she told me she was blest.
My spirit had been longing here for years
To know if that dear creature was at rest,
When, just as my poor heart lost all its tears,
She came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
To know if that dear creature was at rest,
When, just as my poor heart lost all its tears,
She came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
I then grew happy—for, with mine own eyes,
I had beheld that being whom my breast
Had pillowed here for years—fresh from the skies—
Who came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
I had beheld that being whom my breast
Had pillowed here for years—fresh from the skies—
Who came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
I wept no more—from that sad day to this,
I have been longing for the same sweet rest,
Where my fond soul shall dwell with her in bliss,
Who came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
I have been longing for the same sweet rest,
Where my fond soul shall dwell with her in bliss,
Who came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.
Middletown, Conn., Dec. 25th, 1841.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |