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, Orb’d fire, into a cloud, There is a fragrant sound as if a rose Sighed its sweet 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.