Poems

al vision, With joy-smiling eyes, Descend by my stair From the palace of air That floats in the skies. They sport in the dews Of my roseate hues, Like the nerei'ds that glide Through the spray-showered caves By the rhythmical waves Of the moon-glowing tide. When the spirit of rest Folds the slumbering west With still shadows deep, And the moon from the pillow Of ocean's low billow Rises from sleep, I tint her soft veil, Translucent and pale With silvery light : While the stars â?? the bright flowers That hang from the bowers Of the garden of night â?? In harmony twinkle, As quiet winds sprinkle Their blossoms with dew ; But I vanish away Ere the whisper of day Stirs heaven's deep blue. Is it strange that my grace Finds the fairest birthplace On the storm's melting shroud ? Thus Paradise bright Opens gates in the light Of Death's breaking cloud ! A DREAM OF CHILDREN. OD gives our sleep, but Fancy paints our dreams, And weaves the dusky fabric of our rest With colors caught from wakeful hours, and tints, And shadowings of sweet reality. Her noiseless hands create from sound and air The fleeting forms, the people of our sleep, Till darkness opens into smiling day, And scenes that charm us with still wonderment. Yet dreams are oft the open books of truth. Rich thoughts do often in their pages lie, Like jewelled pebbles in some quiet stream. The sun may rise and dry the silver rill, And yet the...