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Rain and Roses

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<h2>Dream</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THE flowers upon my lady’s hat, Kept bobbing so this way then that, Until the Church seemed faint and blurred The morning Psalms I scarcely heard. Unless I see I cannot hear, So, I just admired that flower so near. ’Twas unlike any bloom that blows On trees or waves in garden rows, Where clings the morning glory vine Or beds of phlox or columbine, Like nothing in the drowsy south With love songs oozing from its mouth, In all the languorous, summer noons Or riotous breaths of all perfumes, Like nothing in my garden bed Of flowers washed blue or drenched red; Peculiarly designed it sat And nodded on my lady’s hat. I summoned all my powers to wit But could not find a name for it. </div> <div class="stanza"> I sought my couch with troubled breast, I could not from my memory wrest{74} The name of that tormenting bloom, Till wearied tossing, then I swooned Into forgetfulness and dreamed Of lands beyond where sunlight streamed, In gardens where an angel talked In soft glad whispers as he walked. And touched each blossoming bud and bell With pride and love ineffable. But one he loved beyond compare; He stooped and kissed the petals rare. With eagerness I did persist To see the flower the angel kissed. And there it grew a thing intact, The flower upon my lady’s hat. It stood a straight slim tossing flame And I had yet to learn its name. With this in mind I tried to talk, But the angel only sped his walk. I could have cried for very shame, Then someone called me by my name. The room was pink with morning light, Because dreams vanish with the night; And things are not what they seem, I called the little flower “dream.” {75}</div> </div></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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