Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/290

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
272
THE DREAM OF THE TOMBSTONE.
Yet I pray that God may never Send a vision like to this,Never plunge my dreaming spirit In so darksome an abyss.
O, methought in this my dreaming That the icy moonlight, gleamingOn my bosom white and naked, Did its ghastliness illume;That my heart no more was beating, And the tide of life retreatingLeft me like a sculptured tablet, Like a cold and marble tomb,Like a column white and solemn In the ghostly graveyard's gloom.
Love of mine, O, press me nearer! Let mine eyes thy love-look mirror,Let me feel thy heart's low beating; Fondly echoing mine own;Give my heart the blest assurance That my dreaming soul's enduranceWas a phantom of the midnight, From the holy morning flown,Let thy murmured blessings tell me Thou art mine, and mine alone,
Coldly streamed the moonbeams o'er me, And a new-made grave before meLay in loneliness and silence, With its withered flowerets spread,And a myrtle-wreath was braided Round the willow shrunk and faded,That with melancholy motion Waved above its grassy bed,Like a solemn priest, at midnight Swinging censers o'er the dead.
Then methought that, fair and beaming, Thou didst come in radiant seemingFrom the shadowy groups of cypress That around the churchyard grew.But another's arm was round thee, And another's love had bound thee,And to him who loved thee truly, Was thy love no longer true,Then I felt my heart was breaking As to me yo nearer drew.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.