A Daydream
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1772 to 1834
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My eyes make pictures, when they are shut:
I a fountain, large and fair,
A willow, and a hut,
And thee, and me, and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!
Bend o’er us, a bower, my beautiful green willow!
A wild-rose roofs ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree:
And lo! where Mary leans her head,
Two dear names carved the tree!
And Mary's tears, they are not tears sorrow:
Our sister and our friend will both be to-morrow.
'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright,
stars are round the crescent moon!
And now it a dark warm night,
The balmiest of the month June!
A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting,
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.
O ever—ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra! love thee!
This brooding warmth across my breast,
This depth tranquil bliss—ah me!
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, know not whither,
But in one quiet room we are still together.
The shadows dance upon the wall
the still dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, all!
And now they melt to one deep shade!
not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart feel thee!
Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play—
'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!
But let me check tender lay
Which none may hear but she and thou!
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming,
Murmur to yourselves, ye two beloved women!