The Rose's Dream

O sisters, when last night so well you slept
I could not sleep; but through the silent air
I looked upon the white Moon, shining where
No scent of any Rose can reach, I know.
And as I looked, adown the path there crept
A little trembling, restless Wind, and lo!
As near it came, I said, " O little breeze,
That hast no strength wherewith to stir the trees.
What dost thou in this place? " It only sighed,
And paused a little ere it thus replied, —

II.

"I am the Wind that comes before the rain, —
Which, even now, bears onward from the west,
The rain that is as sweet to you as rest.
When all the air about the day lies dead,
And the incessant sunlight grows a pain.
Then by the cool rain are you comforted.

O happy Rose, that shall not live to see
This summer garden altered utterly, —
You know not of the days of snow and ice.
Nor know the look of wild and wintry skies."

III.

Then passed the Wind, but left me very sad,
For I began to think of days to come,
Wherein the Sun should fail and birds grow dumb,
And how this garden then should look, indeed.
And as I thought of all, such fear I had

I cried to you, asleep, though none would heed;
And so I wept, though none might see me weep.
Till came the Wind again, and bade me sleep,
And sang me such a small, sweet song that soon
I fell asleep while looking on the Moon.

IV.

And as I slept I dreamed a fearful dream: —
It seemed to me that I was standing here.
The sky was sunless, and I saw anear
All you, my sisters, lying dead and crushed.
I could not hear the music of the stream
That runs hard by, when suddenly there rushed
A giant Wind adown the garden walk.
And all the great old Trees began to talk,

And cried, " What does the Rose here? Bid her go,
Lest buried she should be in coming snow."
I strove to move away, but all in vain;
And flying, as it passed me, cried the Wind,
"O foolish, little Rose, and art thou blind?
Dost thou not see the snow is coming fast?"
And all the swaying Trees cried out again,
"O foolish Rose, to tarry till the last!"

Then came a sudden whirl, a mighty noise,
As every Tree that lives had found a voice;
And I was borne away, and lifted high.
As birds that dart in summer through the sky.
And then the great Wind fell away, and so
I felt that I was whirling down and down,
Past Trees that strove, with branches bare and brown,
To catch me as I fell; and all they cried, —

"She will be buried in the cold, deep snow;
Ah, would she had like other Roses died!"
Then, as I thought to fall, I woke to find
The cool rain dropping on me, and the Wind
Singing a rainy song among the Trees,
Wherein the birds were building at their ease.

VII.

First Flower.
A fearful dream, indeed, and such an one
As well may make you sad for days to come.

Second Flower.
A sad, strange dream!

The Rose.
Why is the Lily dumb?

The Lily.
Too sad the dream for me to speak about!

The Rose.
I fear, this night, the setting of the Sun.
A Tree.
Nay, when the Sun goes in the Stars come out.
You shall not dream, Rose, such a dream again;
Forget it, now, in listening to the rain.
The Rose.
I would the Wind had never talked to me
Of things that I shall never live to see!

I.

Just after Nightfall.
I heard a whisper of Roses,
And light, white Lilies laugh out —

"Ah, sweet when the evening closes,
And Stars come looking about;
How cool and good it is to stand.

Nor fear at all the gathering hand!"
"Would I were red! " cried a White Rose,
"Would I were white! " cried a red one.

"No longer the light Wind blows,
He went with the dear dead Sun.
Here we forever seem to stay.

And yet a Sun dies every day."

III.

A Lily.
"The Sun is not dead, but sleeping.
And each day the same Sun wakes;

But when Stars their watch are keeping,
Then a time of rest he takes."