Poem by Francis Thompson

Dream-Tryst

The breaths of kissing night and day
   Were mingled in the eastern Heaven:
Throbbing with unheard melody
   Shook Lyra all its star-chord seven:
      When dusk shrunk cold, and light trod shy,
         And dawn’s grey eyes were troubled grey;
      And souls went palely up the sky,
         And mine to Lucidé.

There was no change in her sweet eyes
   Since last I saw those sweet eyes shine;
There was no change in her deep heart
   Since last that deep heart knocked at mine.
      Her eyes were clear, her eyes were Hope’s,
         Wherein did ever come and go
      The sparkle of the fountain-drops
         From her sweet soul below.

The chambers in the house of dreams
   Are fed with so divine an air,
That Time’s hoar wings grow young therein,
   And they who walk there are most fair.
      I joyed for me, I joyed for her,
         Who with the Past meet girt about:
      Where our last kiss still warms the air,
      Nor can her eyes go out.

1. The Making of Viola
2. Gilded Gold
3. To My Godchild, Francis M.W.M.
4. To a Child Heard Repeating Her Mother's Verses
5. A Fallen Yew

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