An hour’s respite; once more the heart may dream:

the thunderwheels of passion thro’ the eve,

distantly musical, vaporously agleam,

about my old pain leave

nought but a soft enchantment, vesper fable.

Sweet hour of dream! from the tense height of life

given back to this dear grass and perfumed shade,

across the golden darkness

I feel the simple flowerets where we stray’d

in the clear eves unmix’d with starry strife.

Ah! wilt thou not even now arise,

low-laughing child haunting my old spring ways

and blossom freshly on my freshen’d gaze,

sororal in this hour of tenderness,

an hour of happy hands and clinging eyes —

on silent heartstrings

sweet memory fades in sweet forgetfulness.