Artist's Dream, An
Her dainty feet trip o'er the field
Where daisies lie,
The tints of heaven's azure shield
Flash in her eye.
Upborne upon the amorous air
In shimmering fold
Stream back the ripples of her hair
Like molten gold.
Her brow is like the welcome dawn,
Whose pallid light,
When night's depressing hours are gone,
Breaks on the sight.
Her cheeks are like the clouds of snow
That blush with pride,
Kissed by the sun's vermilion glow
At eventide.
Her lips are like the dew-bent rose
Whose blood-red heart,
The type of passion in repose,
Begins to part.
Her nostril, like the lily's leaf,
Is curved and white,
And trembles quick with joy or grief
Or sudden fright.
Her breath is like the breath of May,
When, after rain,
From meadows sweet it bears the spray
To heaven again.
Her neck is like a shadowed curve
In silver sand,
Where dimpled sunlit wavelets swerve
To kiss the strand.
Her heaving breast is soft and warm,
And free from care;
And sacred is the hallowed charm
That nestles there.
Her waist is girt in woman's grace,
That firmly holds
Her silken drapery in place
In chaste white folds.
Her limbs in modesty are draped;
I may not try
Those lines, in classic beauty shaped,
By fancy's eye.
Her ankles are as swift as thought,
As fleet as fair:
Bewitching fancies never caught,
Encircle there.
Her feet, alas! they mock the power
Of my poor pen:
But could their sweet weight crush a flower,
'Twould live again.
Her smile is like the genial sun
In winter's day:
The laugh of summer unbegun
Lives in each ray.
Clear is her voice as crystal sweep
Of pebbled stream,
Whose music murmurs in the sleep
Of its own dream.
And soft it comes when darkness falls;
And I alone
Within my studio's silent walls
Recall its tone.
Her steps like shadows on a rock
Fall on the floor,
Her white and dimpled fingers knock
Upon my door.
Come in! I call, but there is none
That makes reply.
Is there no love of such an one
For such as I?
She comes not — on my nerveless arm
Sinks down my head —
Farewell — farewell — distracting charm;
Why art thou fled!
Where daisies lie,
The tints of heaven's azure shield
Flash in her eye.
Upborne upon the amorous air
In shimmering fold
Stream back the ripples of her hair
Like molten gold.
Her brow is like the welcome dawn,
Whose pallid light,
When night's depressing hours are gone,
Breaks on the sight.
Her cheeks are like the clouds of snow
That blush with pride,
Kissed by the sun's vermilion glow
At eventide.
Her lips are like the dew-bent rose
Whose blood-red heart,
The type of passion in repose,
Begins to part.
Her nostril, like the lily's leaf,
Is curved and white,
And trembles quick with joy or grief
Or sudden fright.
Her breath is like the breath of May,
When, after rain,
From meadows sweet it bears the spray
To heaven again.
Her neck is like a shadowed curve
In silver sand,
Where dimpled sunlit wavelets swerve
To kiss the strand.
Her heaving breast is soft and warm,
And free from care;
And sacred is the hallowed charm
That nestles there.
Her waist is girt in woman's grace,
That firmly holds
Her silken drapery in place
In chaste white folds.
Her limbs in modesty are draped;
I may not try
Those lines, in classic beauty shaped,
By fancy's eye.
Her ankles are as swift as thought,
As fleet as fair:
Bewitching fancies never caught,
Encircle there.
Her feet, alas! they mock the power
Of my poor pen:
But could their sweet weight crush a flower,
'Twould live again.
Her smile is like the genial sun
In winter's day:
The laugh of summer unbegun
Lives in each ray.
Clear is her voice as crystal sweep
Of pebbled stream,
Whose music murmurs in the sleep
Of its own dream.
And soft it comes when darkness falls;
And I alone
Within my studio's silent walls
Recall its tone.
Her steps like shadows on a rock
Fall on the floor,
Her white and dimpled fingers knock
Upon my door.
Come in! I call, but there is none
That makes reply.
Is there no love of such an one
For such as I?
She comes not — on my nerveless arm
Sinks down my head —
Farewell — farewell — distracting charm;
Why art thou fled!
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