An Impression
The floating call of the cuckoo,
Soft little globes of bosom-shaped sound,
Came and went at the window;
And, out in the great green world,
Those maidens each morn the flowers
Opened their white little bodices wide to the sun:
And the man sighed—sighed—in his sleep,
And the woman smiled.
Then a lark staggered singing by
Up his shining ladder of dew,
And the airs of dawn walked softly about the room,
Filling the morning sky with the scent of the woman’s hair,
And giving, in sweet exchange, its hawthorn and daisy breath:
And the man awoke with a sob—
But the woman dreamed.
