If I but had my longing! not opals sad and rare,
For noble stones are proud things, and best befit your hair;
Not purple-buttoned waistcoats, nor sack to drink me deep,
But white, smooth sheets to lie in—oh I’d sleep, sleep, sleep!
And the corners of that bedstead should be olivewood so green,
And the gentle swan’s-down pillows should have comforted a queen;
With a canopy above me, of azure silk outspread,
Four carved evangels at my feet and magi at my head!
And no sun should creep there, and but small starlight,
And the whole room be odorous of gardens known at night;