Here you will find thePoemA Dream诗人的威尔弗里德Scawen钝
I dreamed A dream of you, Not as you seemed When you were late unkind And blind To my eyes' pleading for a debt long due, But touched and true And all inclined To tenderest fancies on love's inmost theme. How sweet you were to me and ah, how kind In that dear dream! I felt Your lips on mine Mingle and melt, And your cheek touch my cheek. I, weak With vain desires and askings for a sign Of love divine, Found my grief break, And wept and wept in an unending stream Of sudden joy set free, yet could not speak, Dumb in my dream. I knew You loved me then, And I knew too The bliss of souls in Heaven New--shriven, Who look with pity on still sinning men, And turn again To be forgiven In the dear arms of their God holding them, And spend themselves in praise from morn till even Nor break their dream. I woke In my mid bliss, At midnight's stroke, And knew you lost and gone. Forlorn I called you back to my unfinished kiss, But only this One word of scorn You answered me, ``'Twas better loved to seem Than loved to be, since all love is forsworn, Always a dream.''
