The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language |
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| CLIX. | CLIX
A DREAM OF AUTUMN
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 | The Golden Treasury |  |
214
CLIX
A DREAM OF AUTUMN
I heard a man of many winters say,
‘Sometimes a sweet dream comes to me by night,
Fluttering my heart with pulses of delight,
In glory bright as day;
‘Sometimes a sweet dream comes to me by night,
Fluttering my heart with pulses of delight,
In glory bright as day;
‘'Tis not the stir of manhood, nor the pain,
The flood of passions, and the pomp of life,
The toils, the care, the triumphs, and the strife,
That move my soul again;
The flood of passions, and the pomp of life,
The toils, the care, the triumphs, and the strife,
That move my soul again;
‘Ah! no, my prison-gates are open thrown,
There is a brighter earth, a lovelier sun,
One face I see, I hear one voice, but one,
'Tis She, and She alone!
There is a brighter earth, a lovelier sun,
One face I see, I hear one voice, but one,
'Tis She, and She alone!
‘It is a golden morning of the spring,
My cheek is pale, and hers is warm with bloom,
And we are left in that old carven room,
And she begins to sing;
My cheek is pale, and hers is warm with bloom,
And we are left in that old carven room,
And she begins to sing;
‘The open casement quivers in the breeze,
And one large muskrose leans its dewy grace
Into the chamber, like a happy face,
And round it swim the bees;
And one large muskrose leans its dewy grace
Into the chamber, like a happy face,
And round it swim the bees;
‘Sometimes her sunny brow she loves to lean
Over her harp-strings; sometimes her blue eyes
Are diving into the blue morning skies,
Or woodland shadows green;
Over her harp-strings; sometimes her blue eyes
Are diving into the blue morning skies,
Or woodland shadows green;
‘Sometimes she looks adown a garden walk
Whence echoes of blithe converse come and go,
And two or three fair sisters, laughing low,
Go hand in hand, and talk.
Whence echoes of blithe converse come and go,
And two or three fair sisters, laughing low,
Go hand in hand, and talk.
‘And once or twice all fearfully she gazed
Up to her gray fore-fathers, grim and tall,
With faded brows that frown'd along the wall,
And steadfast eyes amazed.
Up to her gray fore-fathers, grim and tall,
With faded brows that frown'd along the wall,
And steadfast eyes amazed.
215
‘She stays her song; I linger idly by;
She lifts her head, and then she casts it down,
One small, fair hand is o'er the other thrown,
With a low, broken sigh;
She lifts her head, and then she casts it down,
One small, fair hand is o'er the other thrown,
With a low, broken sigh;
‘I know not what I said; what she replied
Lives, like eternal sunshine, in my heart;
And then I murmur'd, Oh! we never part,
My love, my life, my bride!
Lives, like eternal sunshine, in my heart;
And then I murmur'd, Oh! we never part,
My love, my life, my bride!
‘And then, as if to crown that first of hours,
That hour that ne'er was mated by another,
Into the open casement her young brother
Threw a fresh wreath of flowers.
That hour that ne'er was mated by another,
Into the open casement her young brother
Threw a fresh wreath of flowers.
‘And silence o'er us, after that great bliss,
Fell, like a welcome shadow; and I heard
The far woods sighing, and a summer bird
Singing amid the trees;
Fell, like a welcome shadow; and I heard
The far woods sighing, and a summer bird
Singing amid the trees;
‘The sweet bird's happy song, that stream'd around,
The murmur of the woods, the azure skies,
Were graven on my heart, though ears and eyes
Mark'd neither sight nor sound.
The murmur of the woods, the azure skies,
Were graven on my heart, though ears and eyes
Mark'd neither sight nor sound.
‘She sleeps in peace beneath the chancel stone,
But ah! so clearly is the vision seen,
The dead seem raised, or Death hath never been,
Were I not here alone.
But ah! so clearly is the vision seen,
The dead seem raised, or Death hath never been,
Were I not here alone.
‘Oft, as I wake at morn, I seem to see
A moment, the sweet shadow of that shade,
Her blesséd face, as it were loth to fade,
Turn'd back to look on me.’
A moment, the sweet shadow of that shade,
Her blesséd face, as it were loth to fade,
Turn'd back to look on me.’
F. Tennyson
| The Golden Treasury | |