In swift and sudden dreams each night I greet
The host of friends that in my heart I bear;
I chat in paradox with Baudelaire,
I talk with Gautier of the obsolete—
My absinthe and De Musset's brandy meet;
And by some special favour here and there,
Now with Elaine and now with Guinevere,
I pass the day in some serene retreat.
Heine's malicious eyes have gazed in mine,
And I have sat at Leopardi's feet.
And once I heard the lute-strung song divine
That Sappho and the Lesbian girls repeat,
But yet, what night have Inot sought in vain
To meet and muse with Emerson again?