Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/37

Rh A silver city rapt and still; Dim, drowsy deeps of opal haze, And spire and dome in diamond blaze; The little lisping leaves of spring Like sequins softly glimmering; Each roof a plaque of argent sheen, A gauzy gulf the space between; Each chimney-top a thing of grace, Where merry moonbeams prank and chase; And all that sordid was and mean, Just Beauty, deathless and serene.

O magic city of a dream! From glory unto glory gleam; And I will gaze and pity those Who on their pillows drowse and doze… And as I’ve nothing else to do, Of tea I’ll make a rousing brew, And coax my pipes until they croon, And chant a ditty to the moon.

The moon peeped out behind the hill As yellow as an apricot; Then up and up it climbed until Into the sky it fairly got; The sky was vast and violet; The poor moon seemed to faint in fright,