Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/197

 N the woods as I did walk,
 * Dappled with the moon's beam,

I did with a Stranger talk,
 * And his name was Dream.

Spurred his heel, dark his cloak,
 * Shady-wide his bonnet's brim;

His horse beneath a silvery oak
 * Grazed as I talked with him.

Softly his breast-brooch burned and shone;
 * Hill and deep were in his eyes;

One of his hands held mine, and one
 * The fruit that makes men wise.

Wondrously strange was earth to see,
 * Flowers white as milk did gleam;

Spread to Heaven the Assyrian Tree,
 * Over my head with Dream.

Dews were still betwixt us twain;
 * Stars a trembling beauty shed;

Yet — not a whisper comes again
 * Of the words he said.