Her Messengers

And could I think my dreams her messengers, —
My dreams wherein she is, — should I not say.
Waking upon some desolate new day.
As one who with a chosen friend confers
She did instruct this chosen dream of hers;
Hers the sweet mouth that bade it wing its way,
Through lands where dreams and sleeping spirits stray,
And sad lips laugh, and glad eyes fill with tears,

Until it found me? — Did she say, "O dream.
Flying to him as swallows o'er the sea
Fly on to summer, say some tender thing,
Kiss longing lips and eyes, and let him deem
That I awhile am with him, bodily,
Nor come back hither with a broken wing?"