Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1089

 BLISS CARMAN

Ah, not in dreams at all, Fleering, perishing, dim, But thy old self, supple and tall, Mistress and child of whim!

��The proud imperious guise, Impetuous and serene, The sad mysterious eyes,

Yea, wilt thou not return, When the late hill-winds veer, And the bright hill-flowers burn With the reviving year ?

When April comes, and the sea

Sparkles as if it smiled,

Will they restore to me

My dark Love, empress and child?

The curtains seem to part; A sound is on the stair, As if at the last ... I start; Only the wind is there.

Lo, now far on the hills The crimson fumes uncurl 'd, Where the caldron mantles and spills

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