Untouched by dark decay;
I foolish dreamt of sunset skies
That slept unchanged amid their gorgeous dies.
I dreamt me of a little boat
Went sailing down a stream,
With stray bright leaves and flowers afloat,
And many a sunbeam’s dusty mote
And painted pebble’s gleam—
I dreamt the barque’s bright goal was won
And still the drifting flowers, the stream flowed on.