Classic Poem

I dreamed a wonderful dream of a flower.
On the hill-side green it grew:
But the tongue would fail, nor has brush the power
To paint that flower for you.
It scented the hill-side far and wide,
And scented the fields of corn:
Its odour was sweet through the tall gold wheat,
And sweet on the airs of morn.
And when I woke, I marvelled:
My soul seemed breathing still
A fragrance never lavished
On mortal grove or hill.

And never, till love came down from above
With its rapture and despair,
Did I know what it meant, — nor God's intent
When he sent that dream so fair.

'Twas as if God said, " The flower so sweet
That upon the hill did gleam
Was love; for love is my tenderest flower,
And only blooms in a dream! "
And still I see the blossom,
And still the scent is there;
And sometimes it brings gladness,
But oftener despair.