The Vision

Of that dear vale where you and I have lain         Scanning the mysteries of life and death         I dreamed, though how impassable the space         Of time between the present and the past!         This was the vision that possessed my mind;         I thought the weird and gusty days of March         Had eased themselves in melody and peace.         Pale lights, swift shadows, lucent stalks, clear streams,         Cool, rosy eves behind the penciled mesh         Of hazel thickets, and the huge feathered boughs         Of walnut trees stretched singing to the blast;         And the first pleasantries of sheep and kine;         The cautioned twitterings of hidden birds;         The flight of geese among the scattered clouds;         Night's weeping stars and all the pageantries         Of awakened life had blossomed into May,         Whilst she with trailing violets in her hair         Blew music from the stops of watery stems,         And swept the grasses with her viewless robes,         Which dreaming men thought voices, dreaming still.         Now as I lay in vision by the stream         That flows amidst our well beloved vale,         I looked throughout the vista stretched between         Two ranging hills; one meadowed rich in grass;         The other wooded, thick and quite obscure         With overgrowth, rank in the luxury         Of all wild places, but ever growing sparse         Of trees or saplings on the sudden slope         That met the grassy level of the vale; -         But still within the shadow of those woods,         Which sprinkled all beneath with fragrant dew,         There grew all flowers, which tempted little paths         Between them, up and on into the wood.         Here, as the sun had left his midday peak         The incommunicable blue of heaven blent         With his fierce splendor, filling all the air         With softened glory, while the pasturage         Trembled with color of the poppy blooms         Shook by the steps of the swift-sandaled wind.         Nor any sound beside disturbed the dream         Of Silence slumbering on the drowsy flowers.         Then as I looked upon the widest space         Of open meadow where the sunlight fell         In veils of tempered radiance, I saw         The form of one who had escaped the care         And equal dullness of our common day.         For like a bright mist rising from the earth         He made appearance, growing more distinct         Until I saw the stole, likewise the lyre         Grasped by the fingers of the modeled hand.         Yea, I did see the glory of his hair         Against the deep green bay-leaves filleting         The ungathered locks. And so throughout the vale         His figure stood distinct and his own shade         Was the sole shadow. Deeming this approach         Augur of good, as if in hidden ways         Of loveliness the gods do still appear         The counselors of men, and even where         Wonder and meditation wooed us oft,         I cried, "Apollo" - and his form dissolved,         As if the nymphs of echo, who took up         The voice and bore it to the hollow wood,         By that same flight had startled the great god         To vanishment. And thereupon I woke         And disarrayed the figment of my thought.         For of the very air, magic with hues,         Blent with the distant objects, I had formed         The splendid apparition, and so knew         It was, alas! a dream within a dream!