 | The poetical works of Henry Alford |  |
The night that is now past hath been to me
A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft
Have I been whirled aloft and rapt away
By some fierce gale: oft in some garden-plot
Laid, in the scent of woodbine and of lilac,
While the laburnum hung its yellow locks
Above me, prisoning in, with flowery chains,
A slumbrous nook, aglow with golden light
Before that night a weary time had past,
A night of anxious thoughts and frequent prayers:
And they have left their traces on my spirit,
Now that pure calm hath come, and thankful joy.
But most of all, one dream I will relate,
Of import not obscure:—'tis a strange tale—
An errant, broken tale; and as the tale,
The measure wanders. Listen: it ran thus.
A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft
Have I been whirled aloft and rapt away
By some fierce gale: oft in some garden-plot
Laid, in the scent of woodbine and of lilac,
While the laburnum hung its yellow locks
Above me, prisoning in, with flowery chains,
A slumbrous nook, aglow with golden light
Before that night a weary time had past,
A night of anxious thoughts and frequent prayers:
And they have left their traces on my spirit,
Now that pure calm hath come, and thankful joy.
But most of all, one dream I will relate,
Of import not obscure:—'tis a strange tale—
An errant, broken tale; and as the tale,
The measure wanders. Listen: it ran thus.
| The poetical works of Henry Alford | |