The Dream

In the regal murk of a dawn-awaiting dream   

I spied a gypsy in a running stream   

Upon her silken back she gently lay   

In waters cool to greet the waking day   

 

An angel white reflected moon-supped glance   

In gypsy’s luna-eyes a-keenly dance   

This barmy dream began to firmly sound   

And nature’s tremble teased the granite ground   

 

I lost my feet and pitched with fear before   

A queen in garb of witch’s ebony lore   

She raised a cry, the angel softly fled   

I woke within a sweat-kissed silken bed   

 

The breath of cool and heady gypsy breeze    

Began my fired-frame to warmly tease   

The memory of an angel jewelled and bright   

Began to echo from the star-blessed night   

 

The shadows banished as the merry morn   

Came creeping old across the emerald lawn   

A green of beauty, England’s only best    

It pulled me from my place of picture-rest    

 

I lifted up my yawning smiling self    

And took a book from sturdy oaken shelf    

A pen, a smile from vision’s generous land    

The words began to tease my waking hand   

 

A poem new of gypsies charmed and wild   

A sweet witch, and a lovely angel child    

The sun crept lithe along the eager pen    

The poet took the golden road again

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