 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
[I think, good shepherd, you did dream of this]
I think, good shepherd, you did dream of this—Our fancies are most frolicsome, and oft
They bear our weakened images aloft,
Where they do lose themselves in very bliss.
Beshrew me, but it is a pleasant spot,
For fairies to make merry on, untill
The steeple's clock, from yonder grey brow'd hill,
Doth dissipate their airy sports, I wot:—
Yet, 'till the dawning, they may brush the dew,
And it may be, perchance, in day-light too,
Albeit we see them not—the light of day,
Perchance, may take their lesser light away,
As the stars fade, when the young moon is fair,
And yet, we know, they still are shining there!
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |