the dream.
137
I bent above thy rest till morn,
With many a whispered blessing;
Soft, timid kisses on thy lips
And blue-veined eyelids pressing.
With many a whispered blessing;
Soft, timid kisses on thy lips
And blue-veined eyelids pressing.
While thus, from slumber's shadowy realm,
Thy truant soul recalling,
Thou couldst not know whence sprang the tears
Upon thy forehead falling.
Thy truant soul recalling,
Thou couldst not know whence sprang the tears
Upon thy forehead falling.
And, O, thine eyes' sweet wonderment,
When thou didst ope them slowly,
To mark mine own bent on thy face
In rapture deep and holy!
When thou didst ope them slowly,
To mark mine own bent on thy face
In rapture deep and holy!
Thou couldst not know, till I had told
That dream of fearful warning,
How much of heaven was in my words,—
"God bless thee, love,—good morning!"
That dream of fearful warning,
How much of heaven was in my words,—
"God bless thee, love,—good morning!"
