Across the golden-glinted West, and far
Beyond the twilight gates one lonely star
Waits calm and still to watch the daylight die.
Like to the sweep of God’s white garment there,
The summer moonlight sleeps upon the sea
Like to a vision of Eternity,
Like to a love that cometh unaware.
A mystic lyre swept by the summer wind,
A far-off echo in the falling rain,
A song of joy, a wild deep sob of pain,
A whisper from the years that lie behind.
Is it a dream grown holy, grown divine,
For all life’s toling, all earth’s pain and care,
Grown perfect by the loving unaware–
Grown tender by the moonlight’s silver shine?
Perchance it may be only dreaming; yet,
When Life’s dim twilight angel spread his wings
Over the weariness of earthly things,
What shall we then remember―what forget?
Good-night! The glow has faded from the sky,
Leaving behind a ruddy starlight gleam,
And in my heart the mem’ry of a dream.
Hush! for the day lies dead. Good-night―good-bye.
Late 19th century (Victorian) poem of loss and mourning by Constance Morgan called “Dreams.” You can find a printable copy of the poem as a high-res 11” x 8” @ 300 ppi JPEG without a watermark here.
From my personal collection of ephemera. These images are to be incorporated into your creative works. Not for resale “as-is.” Credit to FieldandGarden.com appreciated but not required.