On the Lagoon

Soothe, soothe The day-fall, soothe, Till wrinkling winds and seas are smooth. Till yon low band Of purpling strand Breathe seaward dreams from the inner land, Till lapped in mild half-lights our dream-blown boat Is felt to float. To fall, to float.

The sundown rose Delays and glows O'er yon spired peak's remoter snows. Uprolling soon The red-ripe moon Lolls in the pines in drowsed half swoon; Till thin moon shades entangle us, and shift Our visions as we drift And drift.

From musk-rose blooms In the coppice glooms Glide argosies of spice perfumes. The slow-pulsed seas, The shadowy trees, The night spell holds us one with these, Till, Dear, we scarce know life from sleep, but seem Dissolved together In sweet half dream.