When in the long lagoons of slumber sink
The tired flocks of men surrounding me,
On naked feet I walk the lilac brink
Of my own Memory.
And in an alley of the hanging air
Dim blossoms of a garden softly swing
Love lyrics, happy odes, and sonnets fair
Through my Imaginings.
I lean my cheek upon the garden rail
Tasting the fragrance of that company,
Who through the ferny aisles and angles trail
White Immortality.
Odorous daisies from far milky meads
Waft o'er my wall the innocence of Truth,
And from a pool asway with rhyming reeds
I breathe eternal Youth.
Oh haply, in some velvet noon of night,
A glimmering hand, flower-full, will soft unclose,
And slipping through the silence, filmy-light,
Drop on my heart a rose.
First published in The Bulletin, 7 June 1917
