Poems (Terry, 1861)/Rêve du midi
RÊVE DU MIDI.
When o'er the mountain steeps The hazy noontide creeps, And the shrill cricket sleeps Under the grass; When soft the shadows lie, And clouds sail o'er the sky, And the idle winds go by,With the heavy scent of blossoms as they pass;
Then, when the silent stream Lapses as in a dream, And the water-lilies gleam Up to the sun; When the hot and burdened day Stops on its downward way, When the moth forgets to play,And the plodding ant may dream her toil is done;
Then, from the noise of war, And the din of earth afar, Like some forgotten star Dropt from the sky; With the sounds of love and fear, All voices sad and dear Banish to silence drear,The willing thrall of trances sweet I lie.
Some melancholy gale Breathes its mysterious tale, Till the rose's lips grow pale With her sighs: And o'er my thoughts are cast Tints of the vanished past, Glories that faded fast,Renewed to splendour in my dreaming eyes.
As poised on vibrant wings, Where his sweet treasure swings, The honey-lover clings To the red flowers: So, lost in vivid light, So, rapt from day and night, I linger in delight,Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours.