And ask ye why these red tears stream?
Why these damp eyes are wan with weeping?
I had a dream--a lovely dream;
Of him that in her arms is sleeping.

I saw him as 'twas yesterday,
The bloom upon his cheek still beaming;
And round his waist was a golden ray,
And on his brows were purple notes playing.

I saw him as 'twas yesterday,
The smile upon his lips made 'em red;
As though he'd ne'er go away today,
And be naughty still, in his tousled head.

With devil-smile he swept a lyre,
A garland red with roses bound it;
Its strings were knitt'd with lambent fire,
And poems of love printed above it.

I saw him 'mid those spears of light,
Dimmed not by the flight of the night;
Or wouldst the golden sun make him arise,
To wake me from these beautiful lies.

I strove to reach him, and behold,
Those fairy forms of Victorian angels;
And all that rich scent wrapped in blue gold,
Smelled by me from behind the walls!

And he smelled like those one thousand lilies,
Engulfed beneath the fiery daffodil sky;
Entwined in dawn's naive live poesies
Who could breathe not, and were soon t' die.

And I awoke, oh! But to me
Though my waking moon was too hazy;
And to wake up was so dreary,
I envy and hate my own fantasy.