 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
IMP OF DREAMS
I
Imp of Dreams, when she's asleep,To her snowy chamber creep,
And straight whisper in her ear
What, awake, she will not hear—
Imp of Dreams, when she's asleep.
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II
Tell her, so she may repent,That no rose withholds its scent,
That no bird that has a song
Hoards the music summer-long—
Tell her, so she may repent.
III
Tell her there's naught else to do,If to-morrow's skies be blue,
But to come, with civil speech,
And walk with me to Hampton Beach—
Tell her there's naught else to do!
Tell her, so she may repent—
Imp of Dreams, when she 's asleep!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |