In sleep with a sweet pang my brain was wrung,
And straight, methought, I passed from Life away
Into some World whereon a brighter day
Than ours came down, ’mid fairer shades, all hung
With starry fruit; whilst deathless Warblers sung,
Unceasingly, a bliss-inspiring lay;
And Streams of Nectar, as in living play,
Brimm’d into Symphony those shades among.
I seemed alone:—when from a bowery place
A silver-winged Shape came moving fast,
And as I looked in its approaching face,
Methought a thrilling memory of it pass’d
Into my Soul—and in a little space,
’Twas Rosa, smiling as I saw her last.
Other works by Charles Harpur...
