Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/170

160 XVI

is not a pale visionary thing;

She cometh not to me in dream or trance,

Nor ever with phantasmal feature haunts

The passages where thought goes wandering

Its shadow-world; night's sky-embracing wing,

That in the sleepy vault all things enchants,

Captures not there her form and countenance;

Fancies of her to me no fevers bring.

But when my conscious spirit doth purest ride

In its full being and sentiency of life,

When reason standeth at her height of pride,

And my quick mind, with germination rife,

Creates, then most in love do I abide,

And nought but her seems real in that love-strife.