All last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She became my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm. I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose. Her hair I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down the wet woodways Treads it sauntering. No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm. Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOK, THE TEMPLE, SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW HYMN TO ADVERSITY by THOMAS GRAY THE BAYADERE by FRANCIS SALTUS SALTUS THALIA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AEOLIAN HARP (1) by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM AUTUMN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE THE QUEEN IN FRANCE; AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |