342
A Mood
. . . I wonder shall I meet you in the night,In that dear house of Dreams, Sleep's dwelling-place?O Prince! O Lord of life! O heart's delight!O Lover! never this side of the starsSeen face to face! . . .In vain my winged songs beat against the barsOf bitter life; then, falling mute and tired,Like leaves that the sharp hoar frost sheds and scars,Lie dead beneath the heaven they desired.
