’TWIXT SLEEP AND WAKING.
AFTER THE FRENCH OF PROSPER BLANCHEMAIN.
Lying alone last night, ’twixt sleep and waking,
My cruel mistress passed, with queenly tread,
With smile of cold disdain, and haughty head,
And scornful eyes, whereat my heart was breaking;
The vision was so true in all its seeming,
I scarcely could believe that I was dreaming.
But when she came, and o’er me lowly bending,
Upon me rained the kisses of her mouth,
Laden with all the perfume of the South,
Murmuring the while of blisses never ending,
And in her eyes I saw the love-light gleaming,—
Ah! then I knew that I was only dreaming.