Here — where last night she came, even she, for whom
I would so gladly live or lie down dead,
Came in the likeness of a dream and said
Some words that thrilled this desolate, ghost-thronged room —
I sit alone now in the absolute gloom.
Ah! surely on her breast was leaned my head,
Ah! surely on my mouth her kiss was shed
And all my life broke into scent and bloom.
Give thanks, heart, for thy rootless flower of bliss,
Nor think the gods severe though thus they seem,
Though thou hast much to bear and much to miss,
Whilst thou thy nights and days to be canst deem
One thing, and that thing veritably this —
The imperishable memory of a dream.