Music And Moonlight

White roses, like a mist     Upon a terraced height,     And 'mid the roses, opal, moonbeam-kissed,     A fountain falling white.     And as the full moon flows,     Orbed fire, into a cloud,     There is a fragrant sound as if a rose     Had sighed its soul aloud.     There is a whisper pale,     As if a rose awoke,     And, having heard in sleep the nightingale,     Still dreaming of it spoke.     Now, as from some vast shell     A giant pearl rolls white,     From the dividing cloud, that winds compel,     The moon sweeps, big and bright.     Moon-mists and pale perfumes,     Wind-wafted through the dusk:     There is a sound as if unfolding blooms     Voiced their sweet thoughts in musk.     A spirit is abroad     Of music and of sleep:     The moon and mists have made for it a road     Adown the violet deep.     It breathes a tale to me,     A tale of ancient day;     And like a dream again I seem to see     Those towers old and gray.     That castle by the foam,     Where once our hearts made moan:     And through the night again you seem to come     Down statued stairs of stone.     Again I feel your hair,     Dark, fragrant, deep and cool:     You lift your face up, pale with its despair,     And wildly beautiful.     Again your form I strain;     Again, unto my heart:     Again your lips, again and yet again,     I press and then we part.     As centuries ago     We did in Camelot;     Where once we lived that life of bliss and woe,     That you remember not.     When you were Guinevere,     And I was Launcelot. .     I have remembered many and many a year,     And you you have forgot.