her lips were graced with such a smile
as none in waking hours can wear,
so wistful sweet, as whispers in
the dying twilight, dark and fair.
the wind so reckless in his ride
could not resist to blow her hair
and brush her slumb'ring face, her eyes,
oblivious of the night's wild glare.
the lord of dreams in his far hall
encircled by oblivion's shroud,
beheld her in his heart and spoke
to all the phantom, ghostly crowd:
"now swiftly, prophets, messengers,
bear me into her night fantasy,
for when she looks into my eyes
she'll never wake nor flee from me".
(2) the Wind in the Valley
she dreamt of a green valley, wide
and rolling like a carefree song.
so windy were the hilly slopes,
the star-dipped grass uncanny-long.
so languorously slow she walked
and fell into the wind's cool bower,
but then she ran and like one fay
consumed the air's seductive power.
and then like sheets of diamond dust
the rain poured down upon the green
and turned the golden glow to ash
and darkness no one had yet seen.
she ran with giddy recklessness
past stream and wraith and morbid gleam,
until a phantom bowed and said:
"too far you've strayed into this dream".
(3) Death Dancing
the phantom led her deeper, through
her dream's untrodden pathways dim,
until they came upon a hill:
a fugure danced upon the rim.
"Ah!" shrieked the girl, "the dancer's me",
and ran up towards the hill, but quick,
the phantom pulled her arm and said,
"don't go near lest you feel the prick
of the demon owl's dripping claws".
"what owl? what mean you-" then she saw,
the dancer had a fatal wound
where death had first begun to gnaw.
"why is she dancing, she will die!"
the phantom answerd, "for yon gleam
she dances, so that when she falls,
she'll wake inside this dream's far dream."
(4) the Face
inside a wooden hut they slept
and yet they did not sleep at all,
"look at the sky" the phantom said
"tell me what holds the night in thrall".
the girl went out of the cold hut
and stared long at the pallid sky,
there was no moon, no gleam of stars,
just pale dread wound in agony.
the phantom took the dust form off
her weary eyes, and then she fell,
and clutched her forehead, reeling, weak,
a face as clear as a death-knell,
hung in the frightened firmament,
"too far you've strayed into your dream,
I, lord of dreams, claim you for mine".
it was a face no one could dream.