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Quietly, like stately queens of old Who, step by languid step, descend the stairs of gold In fairy tales, thou movest in my dream; Names I give thee, such as must beseem All beauty and all radiance; names that soothe, Resounding silken-smooth, Sounds that wind and waver, glide and glance, Weaving my poems, as in subtle dance.

Ah, but how soon I leave this play When I behold thy wistful way, Thine unadorned, profoundly wistful way; Thy forehead unafraid and calmer than the day, Thy peaceful child-like hands laid open on thy knees, Thy breathing bosom and the dreamful ease That on thy deep and limpid spirit lies. How useless and how little in the sight Of this are all things--all things, save the naked light That wells up from thy heart and gathers in thine eyes.