Floating and flaming there, her images
Bear to my little world’s remotest zone
Glad messages of her, and her alone. 
With silence-sandalled Sleep she comes to me,
(But softer-footed, sweeter-browed, than she,)
In motion gracious as a seagull’s wing,
And all her bright limbs, moving, seem to sing. 150
Let me believe so, then, if so I may
With the night’s bounty feed my beggared day. 
In dreams I see her lay the goddess down
With bow and quiver, and her crescent-crown
Flicker and fade away to dull eclipse
As down to mine she deigns her longed-for lips;
And as her neck my happy arms enfold,
Flooded and lustred with her loosened gold,
She whispers words each sweeter than a kiss: 
Then, wakened with the shock of sudden bliss, 160
My arms are empty, my awakener fled,
And, silent in the silent sky o’erhead,
But coldly as on ice-plated snow, she gleams,
Herself the mother and the child of dreams.

VI

Gone is the time when phantasms could appease
My quest phantasmal and bring cheated ease;
When, if she glorified my dreams, I felt
Through all my limbs a change immortal melt
At touch of hers illuminate with soul. 
Not long could I be stilled with Fancy’s dole; 170
Too soon the mortal mixture in me caught
Red fire from her celestial flame, and fought
For tyrannous control in all my veins: 
My fool’s prayer was accepted; what remains? 
Or was it some eidolon merely, sent
By her who rules the shades in banishment,
To mock me with her semblance?  Were it thus,
How ’scape I shame, whose will was traitorous? 
What shall compensate an ideal dimmed? 
How blanch again my statue virgin-limbed, 180
Soiled with the incense-smoke her chosen priest
Poured more profusely as within decreased
The fire unearthly, fed with coals from far
Within the soul’s shrine?  Could my fallen star
Be set in heaven again by prayers and tears
And quenchless sacrifice of all my years,
How would the victim to the flamen leap,
And life for life’s redemption paid hold cheap!

But what resource when she herself descends
From her blue throne, and o’er her vassal bends 190
That shape thrice-deified by love, those eyes
Wherein the Lethe of all others lies? 
When my white queen of heaven’s remoteness tires,
Herself against her other self conspires,
Takes woman’s nature, walks in mortal ways,
And finds in my remorse her beauty’s praise? 
Yet all would I renounce to dream again
The dream in dreams fulfilled that made my pain,
My noble pain that heightened all my years
With crowns to win and prowess-breeding tears; 200
Nay, would that dream renounce once more to see
Her from her sky there looking down at me!

VII