Poems (Cary)/Isadore's Dream

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ISADORE'S DREAM.
I wandered in a visionary field: Lilacs were purpling out, the ousel, fleet, Plunged in the rainy brook; the air was sweetWith sprouting beech buds; and the full moon sealed The red-leaved book of evening with pure white; The golden falling of a bridal nightWere scarcely to a lover's eyes so fair—And yet my thoughts clung, bat-like, to despair.
I would not see the green and pleasant grass, But willows dim and cypresses instead;I said they made me sad, and sighed, Alas! And said, Another year I should be dead,And rest from labor and be done with care— That the May moon would wrap my grave with light; And picking in my lap the daisies white,I braided such a crown as corpses wear.
Walking the visionary meadow o'er, My wreath upon my arm, and sighing so, And praying to be dead, the day-break snowBlushed red as any rose: Come, Isadore— ​ In the dim rainy East an hour agoneThe sun was travelling; wake, I pray thee, sweet!One kiss before we part, perhaps to meet Next in eternity." My dream went onThe same sad way when I was wide awake, And still through all the days and nights I sigh, And try to make my heart believe that IAm grieved for anything but love's sweet sake.
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