Sunset Dreams

The moth and beetle wing about     The garden ways of other days;     Above the hills, a fiery shout     Of gold, the day dies slowly out,     Like some wild blast a huntsman blows:     And o'er the hills my Fancy goes,     Following the sunset's golden call     Unto a vine-hung garden wall,     Where she awaits me in the gloom,     Between the lily and the rose,     With arms and lips of warm perfume,     The dream of Love my Fancy knows.     The glowworm and the firefly glow     Among the ways of bygone days;     A golden shaft shot from a bow     Of silver, star and moon swing low     Above the hills where twilight lies:     And o'er the hills my Longing flies,     Following the star's far-arrowed gold,     Unto a gate where, as of old,     She waits amid the rose and rue,     With star-bright hair and night-dark eyes,     The dream, to whom my heart is true,     My dream of Love that never dies.