 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF MY OWN TRUE LOVE
Last night I dreamt of my own true love!
Methought, methought beneath the stars
There fluttered, fluttered at my casement bars
A wildly wailing turtle dove.
I caught him in, and lo! I found
A letter to his bosom bound.
Methought, methought beneath the stars
There fluttered, fluttered at my casement bars
A wildly wailing turtle dove.
I caught him in, and lo! I found
A letter to his bosom bound.
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But when the ribbon I untwined
That wreathed his wing of restless snow,
By his dark welling life-blood's flow
Alas! 'twas all incarnadined,
Deep crimson as the letter's seal
From out a wound no art could heal.
That wreathed his wing of restless snow,
By his dark welling life-blood's flow
Alas! 'twas all incarnadined,
Deep crimson as the letter's seal
From out a wound no art could heal.
I made my sobbing bird a nest
Within my softly shelt'ring arms;
His panting pain, his wild alarms
I lulled at last to languid rest;
When, oh! with my own true love's eyes
He wakes and looks me through and dies.
Within my softly shelt'ring arms;
His panting pain, his wild alarms
I lulled at last to languid rest;
When, oh! with my own true love's eyes
He wakes and looks me through and dies.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |