Softly my phantoms move -- the days that were, The nights that haunt the pathway of my dream, Beneath the stars I stand again with Her, And watch the tranquil Night's first shimmering beam. From far across a sea washed clean of cloud, The tropic breeze disturbs a thin-spun palm, Whose noble head is delicately bowed To catch the keynote of some faerie psalm. Cleaving the pearly fathoms of the night A steamer's silver smoke moves out to sea; A wave comes in, its rim of foamy white As transient as a dreamer's ecstasy. |