Dreaming Of Thee

The fondest dreams that e’er could be;

The grasses at my feet know why,

They’ve caught the sunshine of thy eye.

The birds join in the message, true,

For they have seen thy beauty too.

And through this bright, glad jubilee,

I’m dreaming love, sweet love of thee.

I’m dreaming love, sweet love of thee,

Thy absence clouds each day for me;

The roses cling to yonder wall,

Fearing to sway, lest they should fall.

But firmer doth this heart of mine

Cling to that heav’nly heart of thine.

So, while the roses bloom for me,

I’m dreaming love, sweet love of thee.

I’m dreaming love, sweet love of thee,

The fondest dreams that e’er could be;

The changing tide, it knows no rest,

Nor I, when though art from my breast.

Thy smile my sun, thy frown my death,

My life, thy lips and fragrant breath;

And oh! that thou dot dream of me,

While I am dreaming, love, of thee.

June 25, ‘94

Pub. in Boston

Traveler, Feb. 15,

    1895