Classic Poem

Strange : I sit here, and write my painful prose,
And my sweet love is in the Land of Dreams,
Where bloom weird flowers and murmur mystic streams,
And with wild wilful curve life's current flows,

So what will happen next no creature knows
In that far region: some mad demon seems
To twist in puzzling knots the common themes
Of cheerful day. Now, as her dear eyes close

Under fair lids that I have kissed so oft,
Her spirit is a myriad leagues away
Fast flitting o'er land and sea, or high in air

Borne by some wondrous witchery aloft.
I want to travel on the self-same way:
I want to follow and to find her there.