A Dream of Love

I dreamed I lay beside the dark blue Rhine,
In that old tower where once Sir Roland dwelt;
Methought his gentle lady-love was mine,
And mine the cares and pain which once he felt.
Dim, cloudy centuries had rolled away,
E'en to that minstrel age — the olden time,
When Roland's lady bid him woo no more,
And he, aweary, sought the eastern clime.
Methought that I, like him, had wandered long,
In those strange lands of which old legends tell;
Then home I turned to my own glancing Rhine,
And found my lady in a convent cell;
And I, like him, had watched through weary years,
And dwelt unseen hard by her convent's bound,
In that old tower, which yet stands pitying
The cloister-isle, enclosed by water round.
I long had watched — for in the early morn,
To ope her lattice, came that lady oft;
And earnestly I gazed, yet naught I saw,
Save one small hand and arm, white, fair, and soft.
And when, at eve, the long, dark shadows fell
O'er rock and valley, vineyard, town, and tower,
Again she came — 'again that small white hand
Would close her lattice for the vesper hour.
I lingered still, e'en when the silent night
Had cast its sable mantle o'er the shrine,
To see her lonely taper's softened light
Gleam, far reflected, o'er the quiet Rhine;
But most I loved to see her form, at times,
Obscure those beams — for then her shade would fall,
And I beheld it, evenly portrayed —
A living profile, on that window small.
And thus I lived in love — though not in hope —
And thus I watched that maiden many a year,
When, lo! I saw, one morn, a funeral train —
Alas! they bore my lady to her bier!
And she was dead — yet grieved I not therefore,
For now in Heaven she knew the love I felt,
Death could not kill affection, nor destroy
The holy peace wherein I long had dwelt.
Oh, gentle lady! this was but a dream!
And in a dream I bore all this for thee.
If thus in sleep love's pangs assail my soul,
Think, lady, what my waking hours must be T