A Wanderer

Now that the gulfs of dusk are deep,
And birds have hushed their happy themes,
I wander down the aisles of sleep
Hung with the tapestry of dreams.

The little silvery winds go by
With fluting softly passional;
The stars march up the midnight sky,
And yet I heed them not at all.

For I have felt the enchanter's wand,
And know my soul, released once more,
As elemental as the frond
Amid the mosses by the shore.

What now to me the coil of clay,
Since I may fare, at my desire,
Beyond the azure bourns of day,
Beyond the utmost planet's fire!

All nature's vast, mysterious face
'Tis mine, —an intimate,— to see;
I taste for just a breathing space
The freedom of eternity.

A breathing space! —and then, —and then,
The robins' matins, and I rouse,
To find that I am once again
In my contracted prison-house.