Dear phantoms of my summer's golden
dream!
Across the gulf of miles and years I fling
This ghostly greeting, trusting it may
sing
No swan-song of remembrance, but redeem
One sweet and pleasant thing from Lethe's
stream,
Ere it be swept away. Fond images
Of the inconstant air! what sorceries
Shall I employ to make you what ye seem?
If, being dreams, I know that ye have
been,
How can I know less surely that ye may
Become again substantial, and within
Some interstellar argosy one day,
No dear one missing, we may meet again,
And read earth's tales to while the time
away.