It's little that I care About my darling's place In books of beauty rare, Or heraldries of race: For when she steps in view, A NOVEMBER DAISY A FTERTHOUGHT of summer's bloom! Late arrival at the feast, Coming when the songs have ceased And the merry guests departed, Nay, I wrong you, little flower, Glad, contented, free, and fearless, - When a sunny day is given; Makes a summer of its own, Once the daisies gold and white All its pleasures, — I remember, THE RIVER OF DREAMS HE river of dreams runs softly down THE From its hidden spring in the forest of sleep, With a measureless motion calm and deep; And my boat slips out on the current brown, In a tranquil bay where the trees incline Far over the waves, and creepers twine Far over the boughs, as if to steep Their drowsy blooms in the stream, that goes, By a secret way that no man knows, Under the branches bending, On through the shadows blending, While the body rests, and the passive soul Is drifted along to an unseen goal, And the river of dreams runs down. The river of dreams runs smoothly down, Over the mountains shimmering, Up from the fountains glimmering, 'Tis the mystical glow of the inner light, That shines in the very noon of night, Where the river of dreams runs down. |