A Day Dream

5From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part

6That queen of bridal charms,

7But her father smiled on the fairest child

8He ever held in his arms.

9The trees did wave their plumy crests,

10The glad birds caroled clear;

11And I, of all the wedding guests,

12Was only sullen there!

13There was not one, but wished to shun

14My aspect void of cheer;

15The very grey rocks, looking on,

16Asked, "What do you here?"

17And I could utter no reply;

18In sooth, I did not know

19Why I had brought a clouded eye

20To greet the general glow.

21So, resting on a heathy bank,

22I took my heart to me;

23And we together sadly sank

24Into a reverie.

25We thought, "When winter comes again,

26Where will these bright things be?

27All vanished, like a vision vain,

28An unreal mockery!

29The birds that now so blithely sing,

30Through deserts, frozen dry,

31Poor spectres of the perished spring,

32In famished troops, will fly.

33And why should we be glad at all?

34The leaf is hardly green,

35Before a token of its fall

36Is on the surface seen!"

37Now, whether it were really so,

38I never could be sure;

39But as in fit of peevish woe,

40I stretched me on the moor.

41A thousand thousand gleaming fires

42Seemed kindling in the air;

43A thousand thousand silvery lyres

44Resounded far and near:

45Methought, the very breath I breathed

46Was full of sparks divine,

47And all my heather-couch was wreathed

48By that celestial shine!

49And, while the wide earth echoing rung

50To their strange minstrelsy,

51The little glittering spirits sung,

52Or seemed to sing, to me.

53"O mortal! mortal! let them die;

54Let time and tears destroy,

55That we may overflow the sky

56With universal joy!

57Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,

58And night obscure his way;

59They hasten him to endless rest,

60And everlasting day.

61To thee the world is like a tomb,

62A desert's naked shore;

63To us, in unimagined bloom,

64It brightens more and more!

65And could we lift the veil, and give

66One brief glimpse to thine eye,

67Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,

68Because they live to die."

69The music ceased; the noonday dream,

70Like dream of night, withdrew;

71But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem

72Her fond creation true.