Poems (Hardy)/Of a song and a dream

by Irenè Hardy

OF A SONG AND A DREAM

(AN EXPERIMENT IN THE REFRAIN STANZA)

I HAD a vision at the dawn before the day began,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
And ever through it, bright and sweet, a lover's love-song ran,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

I saw a poet wrapped in thought beneath low boughs of pine,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
And as he walked he wrote upon a tablet small and fine.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

I spoke; he did not turn his head; he would not hear me speak;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
The wandering wind blew back his hair and flushed his youthful cheek.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

His hyacinthine robes made murmurous foldings slow,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
As if a statue stepped, yet undisturbed did go.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

The woodland birds above him flew; the flowers bloomed around;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
Their joy was in his soul; he heard no other sound.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

I paced beside him close; I looked on what he wrote;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
O rare! It was that poet of the perfect note!
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

That great young bard who saw the elder world in light
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
And carved its gods and fanes in verse of marble bright.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

"What said the tablets? What oracular saw I?"
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
—Alas, Mnemosyne, alas, hadst thou been by!—
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

The Sun-god's tale told out at last, Hyperion's woe,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
From that long broken line, complete and whole did flow;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

Gold hair "of short Numidian curl," a regal brow,—
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
And on and on the tale flowed on, beyond all memory now;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

For ere my dream-resolve could learn the wondrous rune,
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.
He hid it in his breast to hark that lover's tune;
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

He smiled; and all the forest seemed with springtime bright,
Then passed the dream and faded in the morning light.
 Along my lady's garden, linger, lovely stream.

"How could I lose so great a boon?" Nay, blame me not,—
Though much the blame,—since this of all was unforgot;

A lover's love-song,—foolish rime, we say,—
Had power to turn that clear Olympian soul away
From thought's profoundest joy,—projection of the forms
Of soul-created beauty, pastime pure that warms
All nobler moods of man and lights the facts of common day
With splendor drawn to earth by song's celestial way.

But yes, 'tis true; such loss has scarce a recompense;
Hyperion's tale! I, self from self, lack all defense.