swirls of pink and blue

they who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escapes those who dream only by night.

(fgr)

with the breath from their pale faces

Dim vales -- and shadowy floods --

And cloudy-looking woods,

Whose forms we can't discover

For the tears that drip all over

Huge moons there wax and wane --

Again -- again -- again--

Every moment of the night --

Forever changing places --

And they put out the star-light

With the breath from their pale faces.

About twelve by the moon-dial

One more filmy than the rest

(A kind which, upon trial,

They have found to be the best)

Comes down -- still down -- and down

With its centre on the crown

Of a mountain's eminence,

While its side circumference

In easy drapery falls

Over hamlets, over halls,

Wherever they may be --

O'er the strange woods -- o'er the sea --

Over spirits on the wing --

Over every drowsy thing --

And buries them up quite

In a labyrinth of light --

And then, how deep! -- O, deep!

Is the passion of their sleep.

In the morning they arise,

And their moony covering

Is soaring in the skies,

With the tempests as they toss,

Like -- almost any thing --

Or a yellow Albatross.

They use that moon no more

For the same end as before --

Videlicet a tent --

Which I think extravagant:

Its atomies, however,

Into a shower dissever,

Of which those butterflies,

Of Earth, who seek the skies,

And so come down again

(Never-contented things!)

Have brought a specimen

Upon their quivering wings.

Enjoy the lunar eclipse tonight. Cross your fingers for a magically disappearing cloud cover.

(click for source)

watercolor dreams

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!

My spirit not awak'ning till the beam

Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.

Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,

'T were better than the cold reality

Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,

And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,

A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.

But should it be -- that dream eternally

Continuing -- as dreams have been to me

In my young boyhood -- should it thus be giv'n,

'T were folly still to hope for higher Heav'n.

For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright

I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light

And loveliness, -- hae left my very heart

In climes of mine imagining, apart

From mine own home, with beings that have been

Of mine own thought -- what more could I have seen?

'T was once -- and only once -- and the wild hour

From my remembrance shall not pass -- some pow'r 

Or spell had bound me -- 't was the chilly wind

Came o'er me in the night, and left behind

Its image on my spirit -- or the moon

Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon

Too coldly -- or the stars -- howe'er it was,

That dream was as that night-wind -- let it pass.

I have been happy, tho' but in a dream.

I have been happy -- and I love the theme:

Dreams! In their vivid coloring of life,

As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife

Of semblance with reality which brings

To the delirious eye, more lovely things

Of Paradise and Love -- and all our own!

Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

(fgr)