Poems (Greenwood)/Dreams
For works with similar titles, see Dreams.
DREAMS.
There was a season when I loved The calm and holy night,—When, like yon silvery evening star, Just trembling on our sight, My spirit through its heaven of dreams Went floating forth in light.
Night is the time when Nature seems God's silent worshipper,And ever with a chastened heart, In unison with her, I laid me on my peaceful couch, The day's dull cares resigned,And let my thoughts fold up like flowers, In the twilight of the mind.
Fast round me closed the shades of sleep; Then burst upon my sight Visions of glory and of love, The stars of slumber's night! Dreams, wondrous dreams, that far around Did such rich radiance fling,As the sudden first unfurling Of a young angel's wing. Then sometimes blessed beings came, Parting the midnight skies,And bore me to their shining homes, The bowers of Paradise; I felt my worn, world-wearied soul Bathed in divine repose, My earth-chilled heart, in the airs of heaven, Unfolding as a rose.
Nor were my dreams celestial all, For oft along my way Clustered the scenes and joys of home, The loves of every day; Soft after angel-music still The voices round my hearth,—Sweet after Paradisean flowers The violets of earth.
But now I dread the night,—it holds Within its weary bounds Strife, griefs and fears, red battle-fields, And spectre-haunted grounds!
One night there sounded through my dreams A trumpet's stirring peal,And then methought I went forth armed, And clad in glittering steel, And sprang upon a battle steed, And led a warrior band, And we swept, a flood of fire and death, Victorious through the land! O, what wild rapture 't was to mark My serried ranks advance,And see amid the foe go down Banner and plume and lance! The living trampled o'er the dead,— The fallen, line on line, Were crushed like grapes at vintage-time, And blood was poured like wine! My sword was dripping to its hilt, And this small, girlish hand, Planted the banner, lit the torch, And waved the stern command.
How swelled and burned within my heart Fierce hate and fiery pride,—My very soul rode like a bark On the battle's stormy tide!
My pitying and all woman's soul! O, no, it was not mine! Perchance mine slumbered, or had left Awhile its earthly shrine; So the spirit of a Joan d'Arc Stole in my sleeping frame, And wrote her history on my heart, In words of blood and flame.
My dead are with me in my dreams, Rise from their still, lone home,—But are they as I loved them here? O Heaven, 't is thus they come! Silent and cold,—the pulseless form In burial garments dressed, The pale hands holding burial flowers, Close folded on the breast!
My living,—they in whose tried hearts My wild, impassioned love Foldeth its wings contentedly, And nestles as a dove,—They come, they hold me in their arms; My heart, with joy oppressed,Seems panting 'neath its blessed weight, And swooning in my breast; My eyes look up through tears of bliss, Like flowers through dews of even,There 's a painful fulness in my lips, Till the kiss of love is given;—When, sudden, their fresh glowing lips Are colorless and cold,And an icy, shrouded corse is all My shuddering arms enfold!
Have I my guardian angels grieved, That they have taken flight? Or frown'st thou on me, O my God, In the visions of the night? Yet with a child's fond faith I rest Still on thy fatherhood,—Speak peace unto my troubled dreams, Thou merciful and good! And, O, if cares and griefs must come, And throng my humble way, Then let me, strengthened and refreshed, Strive with them in the day,This glorious world which thou hast made Spread out in bloom before me,Thy blessed sunshine on my path, Thy radiant skies hung o'er me. But when, like ghosts of the sun's lost rays, Come down the moonbeams pale, And the dark earth lies like an Eastern bride Beneath her silvery veil,Then let the night, with its silence deep, Its dews and its starry gleams,Be peace, and rest, and love!—God, Smile on me in my dreams!