270 A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM

The white dawn seemed to grow more cold;
Its bitter breath was freezing me:

I shivered, and awoke

behold!

The bare, round hills, the muffled sea.

The mountain peak beyond the bay,

Stern, silent, as the vanquished are;
Round him the folded shadows lay,
And on his forehead was a scar.

The vision I had found so drear

Waked with me, and is with me still;

The future of my dream was here,
And I had slept on Berkeley hill.

I had arisen before unclosed

The sleeping orient's earliest gleam,

And climbed, and sat, or mused and dozed,
And dreamed this dream within a dream.

But now the full dawn comes: the sun
Breaks through the canyon with his gold,

The jocund lark-songs have begun,

The mountain's brow is clear and bold.

The good salt sea wind blows; the mist
Unveils the city shining fair;

Its floating shreds the sun has kissed

To pearls that fleck the upper air.

A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM 271

So drift away the moods of night,

free;

So shines the manlier purpose The breezy Present wakes in light, And plans the richer world to be.

A RESTING-PLACE

A SEA of shade; with hollow heights above,

Where floats the redwood's airy roof away, Whose feathery lace the drowsy breezes move, And softly through the azure windows play: No nearer stir than yon white cloud astray, No closer sound than sob of distant dove.

I only live as the deep forest's swoon

Dreams me amid its dream; for all things fade Nor pulse of mine disturbs the unconscious noon. Even love and hope are still-albeit they made My heart beat yesterday — in slumber laid, Like yon

dim ghost that last night was the moon.

Only the bending grass, grown gray and sere, Nods now and then, where at my feet it swings,

Pleased that another like itself is here,

Unseen among the mighty forest things-
Another fruitless life, that fading clings

To earth and autumn days in doubt and fear.

Dream on, O wood! O wind, stay in thy west, Nor wake the shadowy spirit of the fern,

THE MYSTERY

I NEVER know why 't is I love thee so:
I do not think 't is that thine eyes for me
Grow bright as sudden sunshine on the sea;
Nor for thy rose-leaf lips, or breast of snow,
Or voice like quiet waters where they flow.

So why I love thee well I cannot tell:

Only it is that when thou speak'st to me

'Tis thy voice speaks, and when thy face I see

It is thy face I see; and it befell

Thou wert, and I was, and I love thee well.