Sing of enchanted palaces
In cities set by gilded seas,
Slenderly mimicked in the waves
The lace of spires and balconies,
The oriels and the architraves,
—Dreams! dreams! where lead such dreams as these?
SONGS OF FANCY: III
WAS it but a random bird,
Harlequin on breast and wing?
Or through aspens whispering
Was it some rare flute you heard,
That you followed, wandering?
Followed all that onward fled,
Hares and squirrels, bounding roes,
All that through the woodland goes,
Wind that murmurs overhead,
Leaves that scamper, stream that flows.
Straight the pathway you forsook
Tempted by the beckoning
Of the winded poplar’s swing,
Tempted by the onward brook,
In pursuit adventuring,
By the bluebell’s fleeting drift,
By the splash of light and shade
Down the ride in patterns laid,
By the distant sunshine rift,
Promise of the open glade.
There, where they had seen you go,
Those who loved you called your name,
Searching, seeking, to and fro.
True, to answer them you came,
But your eyes were not the same.