Good-Night!
(To Y. M. M.)
The symphonies that I have dreamed at night,
The mighty odes and sonnets that have sprung
Full-clothed in magic rhythm to my tongue
When, in that half-unconscious moment's flight
That whets before it blunts our wearied sight,
Your image has come to me! Had I sung,
Had I then marked your graciousness, and hung
Your image in some song, I might, I might. . . .
I might have shown you in your perfect truth,
In all your beauty, all your mystery,
In all your infinitely gracious youth,
In all the sweetness you have offered me. . . .
I might have hung your soul in all men's sight.
I prefer not to. So, my dear, Good-night!
The symphonies that I have dreamed at night,
The mighty odes and sonnets that have sprung
Full-clothed in magic rhythm to my tongue
When, in that half-unconscious moment's flight
That whets before it blunts our wearied sight,
Your image has come to me! Had I sung,
Had I then marked your graciousness, and hung
Your image in some song, I might, I might. . . .
I might have shown you in your perfect truth,
In all your beauty, all your mystery,
In all your infinitely gracious youth,
In all the sweetness you have offered me. . . .
I might have hung your soul in all men's sight.
I prefer not to. So, my dear, Good-night!
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