Irene's Dream
Flor. And I must go. But may I come again?
Irene. Yes, come and tell me what the world is like.
Flor. And may I take a lily back with me?
Irene. I never yet have gathered flower or bud,
Lest the slight life should feel a tiny pang.
Flor. Adieu, then.
Irene. Did I grieve you? Here, then, take it!
Irene. Yes, come and tell me what the world is like.
Flor. And may I take a lily back with me?
Irene. I never yet have gathered flower or bud,
Lest the slight life should feel a tiny pang.
Flor. Adieu, then.
Irene. Did I grieve you? Here, then, take it!
She gave the tiny stem with all its pearls
In the green sheath half folded from the light,
Into his reverent hand. As if to speak,
He lingered yet a moment, while the scent
Of those dear flower bells, like veiled music, charmed
His senses—then abruptly turned and went.
And as he passed upon his way he saw
The white hall gleam through fresh-leaved chestnut boughs
That overbowered the three sides of a square
Of waving grass. The house filled up the fourth,
A sunlit dream.
Then, as the little gate
Of a rich flowering shrubbery let him through
Into the wide green slope of pleasure ground,
He saw again the shining lake below.
With careless truth reflecting as it lay,
The rosy fancies of the setting sun.
In the green sheath half folded from the light,
Into his reverent hand. As if to speak,
He lingered yet a moment, while the scent
Of those dear flower bells, like veiled music, charmed
His senses—then abruptly turned and went.
And as he passed upon his way he saw
The white hall gleam through fresh-leaved chestnut boughs
That overbowered the three sides of a square
Of waving grass. The house filled up the fourth,
A sunlit dream.
Then, as the little gate
Of a rich flowering shrubbery let him through
Into the wide green slope of pleasure ground,
He saw again the shining lake below.
With careless truth reflecting as it lay,
The rosy fancies of the setting sun.
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