And then—I woke. The bar of sunshine
Down the wall had faded quite,
And the vision with it ended
As the shadows chased the light;
Yet I seem to hear the story,
Seem the starry crown to see,
While the footsteps of the housewife
Beat their rhythm patiently.
WHERE are the sweet old-fashioned posies,
Quaint in form and bright in hue,
Such as grandma gave her lovers
When she walked the garden through?
Lavender, with spikes of azure
Pointing to the dome on high,
Telling thus whence came its color,
Thanking with its breath the sky.
Four-o clock, with heart upfolding,
When the loving sun had gone,
Streak and stain of cunning crimson,
Like the light of early dawn.
Regal lilies, many-petalled,
Like the curling drifts of snow,
With their crown of golden anthers
Poised on malachite below.