Classic Poem

An interval of dark repose—
Such as the summer lightning knows,
'Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright
The quick revealment comes and goes,
Opening each time the veils of night,
To show within a world of light—
Such pause, so brief, now past between
This last gay vision and the scene
Which now its depth of light disclosed.
A bower it seemed, an Indian bower,
Within whose shade a nymph reposed,
Sleeping away noon's sunny hour—
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves
Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves,
And there, as Indian legends say,
Dreams the long summer hours away.
And mark how charmed this sleeper seems
With some hid fancy—she, too, dreams!
Oh for a wizard's art to tell
The wonders that now bless her sight!
'T is done—a truer, holier spell
Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell.
Thus brings her vision all to light:—