AFTER FERNAND GREGH

This eve dream brims my heart, my tears unbidden rise,
Eachwhile I feel another infinite soul to be,
My silence fills the air with tremulous harmony,
And flowers irradiant bloom at will of my closed eyes.

My youth-compelling blood stirs with its ardent cries
The old, far world whose kindred spirit speaks to me,
And in the kindly dark immingling forms I see
In motion's endless play and color's myriad dyes.

O moment thou of Beauty! Could I nothing know
Save this thy swift-winged rapture in my clouded way,
'Twere well to have been born, to death content I'd go.

This eve my pride fed full on what man dreams for aye;
And, like a bird one catches at the casement, so
The infinite in my hand all palpitating lay.