Florence′s Poem The Dream

A Dream

Yestere’en as I was wandering,
Down by the brooklet clear,
I saw near the foot of an old oak
A something for some one dear ;
T’was only a small blue flower
That grows on the brooklet’s rim,
A curl of gold by it’s side there lay.
A curl that was meant for him.
Methought I would wait and listen
If perchance the someone came.
For I knew a girl with golden hair,
And what if it were the same.
I saw emerge from the shadow
A man with an athlete’s form,
He lifted the curl so gently
And kissed it with passion warm,
Then close to his breast he placed them,
The flower and golden hair.
Why did I stand and shudder,
What matter had I for care ?

Then gently behind him stealing,
Like a cloud of white and blue,
Came a girl who had placed the flower
And I knew where the gold hair grew.
He turned and with lover’s rapture
Caught her in his fond embrace,
Showered the mad warm kisses
On her eyes and hair and face.
I saw her gently trying
To free from his passion’s grasp;,
Look in his eyes all loving
Her hands in his hands clasp;
Then with her fair head drooping,
As a flower all bent in pain
Harry, my darling I heard her say,
I know I have been to blame.
I could not tell you my sorrow
Or tell you that you must go,
For Harry I love you fondly
But indeed it must be so.
We never may meet again love
No never as long as we live,
For father has made me promise
Myself to another to give.

I watched his clear brow darken
As clouds o’erspread the sky,
So you have been only playing,
He said with a darkening eye;
I hope the time has been pleasant,
T’was not worth your while to try,
But now it seems all the time, Mary,
You have only acted a lie.
Oh ! Mary you cannot mean it,
Say ! Look in my eyes if you can
And tell me why you have altered
And tell me the name of the man.
He lifted her small white face
To gaze in her deep blue eyes.
No look of love or longing was there
T’was the face of one who dies.

Madly I rushed from the thicket,
Yes ! Yes! It was all too true
The tears were still there on her lashes,
As violets steeped in dew.

Oh! Mary my child ! my darling !
Come back again I pray,
Oh ! listen a minute only
To what I have to say.
T’was that you should be happy my child
Of you I thought night and day
He loved you and asked me for you,
And I knew t’was the only way
To give my darling riches,-
Riches and honour for life.
I could not bear that you should know
The slightest sorrow or strife,
You told me your tale all blushing.
Of your love so true and great,
But methought would soon forget him
Say ! Say ! it is not too late.

Gently we raised the body
Her father and lover both.
The wind in her long hair playing,
As if to lose her loth –
Then on the couch we laid her
Still decked in her white and blue,
And sorrow was hard at both our hearts
As we looked our last adieu.
Then with the strength of my sorrow,
From the dreadful dream I awoke,
There was my own little Mary,
Who smiling asked if I spoke.

Return to Florence’s page