Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 2

Not while I live may I forget

That garden which my spirit trod!

Where dreams were flowers, wild and wet,

And beautiful as God.

Not while I breathe, awake adream,

Shall live again for me those hours,

When, in its mystery and gleam,

I met her 'mid the flowers.

Eyes, talismanic heliotrope,

Beneath mesmeric lashes, where

The sorceries of love and hope

Had made a shining lair.

And daydawn brows, whereover hung

The twilight of dark locks; and lips,

Whose beauty spoke the rose's tongue

Of fragrance-voweled drips.

I will not tell of cheeks and chin,

That held me as sweet language holds;

Nor of the eloquence within

Her bosom's moony molds.

Nor of her large limbs' languorous

Wind-grace, that glanced like starlight through

Her ardent robe's diaphanous

Web of the mist and dew.

There is no star so pure and high

As was her look; no fragrance such

At her soft presence; and no sigh

Of music like her touch.

Not while I live may I forget

That garden of dim dreams! where I

And Song within the spirit met,

Sweet Song, who passed me by.