A Gift

2 0 00

A Gift

My gift would find thee fast asleep,

And arise a dream in thee;

A violet sky o’er the roll and sweep

Of a purple and pallid sea;

And a crescent moon from my sky should creep

In the golden dream to thee.

Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list

To the wail of our cold birth-time;

And build thee a temple, glory-kissed,

In the heart of the sunny clime;

Its columns should rise in a music-mist,

And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme.

Its pillars the solemn hills should bind

’Neath arches of starry deeps;

Its floor the earth all veined and lined;

Its organ the ocean-sweeps;

And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind,

Its censers the blossom-heaps.

And ’tis almost done; for in this my rhyme,

Thanks to thy mirror-soul,

Thou wilt see the mountains, and hear the chime

Of the waters after the roll;

And the stars of my sky thy sky will climb,

And with heaven roof in the whole.