THE GARDEN OF SLEEP.
Lo! there in the Garden I behold my princess
Yea! there in the Garden of Sleep.
There in the Garden I fain would caress
My lovely princess
In the Garden of Sleep.
’Neath the jasamine trees, and the lilac and rose
There stands my princess—so close—yes so close.
Alloyed with the lilies—the orange pink lilies—
Among the roses and lilies
Stands my azure princess
Lo! there in the Garden of Sleep.
Midst the trembling narcissus and cadmium dillies
Midst the daf-o-down-dilies
Glides my faëry princess
In her gold-azure dress.
Veridian the foliage packed heavy in creepers,
Olive the pine tree with sap-oozing cones;
Each rustling leaf bestirring the sleepers,
The brown buzzing bees and the resonant drones.
Dreaming with legs all bespattered with pollen;
—The passionate kiss of a love giving flower—
While velvety moths in flight silent and solemn,
Creep dreamily forth from each scent-giving bower;
And purple clematis with quivering tendrils
Drink in the pure air, and sleep-whisp’ring wind
Sad pale perfumed firs wave feathery branches
In Columbine’s fingers gently clasped and entwined
In Columbine’s pensile and pale greeny tendrils
There in the Garden of Sleep.
Where silver fountains leap
Hid in a deep recess
There roams my dear princess
’Neath the Castle of Dreams.
Sunk there in a carpet of starwort and cress,
Where myrtle and eglantines gracefully sway
Anent the feet of my lovely princess
Lies a large bronzen bowl where the dragonflies play
In the sunbeams that blue amber lotus caress.
Filled to the brim through a lazuli funnel,
Fed from the meads by a soft lisping brook;
Pours itself forth int’ a silvery runnel,
Which laughing, flows on through that cool shaded nook,
Cool as the shadows that lie in the dress
Of my peerless princess;
Blue and crystal the bronzen bowl, reflecting the vault above
Sapphire and crystal the red bronze bowl, reflecting the face of my love
Red and gold the glittering carp that sport in the waters below
Ruby and gold the shimmering carp—the hues of a sunset glow.
White, ivory-white, and golden green are the lights that fall from the
lilies
Golden-orange and orange-green, the shades of the daf-o-down-dilies.
But far more fair in that fair recess
Are the ivory hands of my pale princess
—There in the Garden of Sleep—
And her lustrous eyes of ebon black
Curtained with lashes so silken and sleek,
The poise of her head, the line of her back,
Arched, as she culls the blood red rose
What a wonderful, classical, graceful pose
One tapering finger wantonly plays
With a lambent jewel that gently sways
O’er her breast.
In that Garden of Rest,
Where all that is purest, tenderest—best
One with another loving contest
For a smile or a kiss or a passing caress
From my azure princess.