Quietly, like stately queens of old
Who, step by languid step, descend the stairs of gold
In fairy tales, thou movest in my dream;
Names I give thee, such as must beseem
All beauty and all radiance; names that soothe,
Resounding silken-smooth,
Sounds that wind and waver, glide and glance,
Weaving my poems, as in subtle dance.
Ah, but how soon I leave this play
When I behold thy wistful way,
Thine unadorned, profoundly wistful way;
Thy forehead unafraid and calmer than the day,
Thy peaceful child-like hands laid open on thy knees,
Thy breathing bosom and the dreamful ease
That on thy deep and limpid spirit lies.
How useless and how little in the sight
Of this are all things--all things, save the naked light
That wells up from thy heart and gathers in thine eyes.