'Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dreamt away;
In that same garden, where--the pride
Of seraph splendor laid aside,
And those wings furled, whose open light
For mortal gaze were else too bright--
I first had stood before her sight,
And found myself--oh, ecstasy,
Which even in pain I ne'er forget--
Worshipt as only God should be,
And loved as never man was yet!
In that same garden where we now,
Thoughtfully side by side reclining,
Her eyes turned upward and her brow
With its own silent fancies shining.
It was an evening bright and still
As ever blusht on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven as if naught ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.
Yet I remember both grew sad
In looking at that light--even she,
Of heart so fresh and brow so glad,
Felt the still hour's solemnity,
And thought she saw in that repose
The death-hour not alone of light,
But of this whole fair world--the close
Of all things beautiful and bright--
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray
Nature herself died calm away!
At length, as tho' some livelier thought
Had suddenly her fancy caught,
She turned upon me her dark eyes,
Dilated into that full shape
They took in joy, reproach, surprise,
As 'twere to let more soul escape,
And, playfully as on my head
Her white hand rested, smiled and said:--
"I had last night a dream of thee,
"Resembling those divine ones, given,
"Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy,
"Before thou camest thyself from heaven.
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