Classic Poem

A sense of sleeping in between dark firs
That clothe some dreamy monstrous Apennines, —
A sense of fragrance wafted from sweet pines
Across the illimitable mountain-spurs, —
And then, as the awaking mind demurs,
The soft discovery that a woman twines
Long leafy tresses, — that her splendour shines
Through sleep, and that the ambrosial breath was hers.

So dreamed I; and my spirit took its flight,
Invulnerable, o'er the mountain-tops,
On beatific pinions, softly bright
As are the golden crowns of August crops; —
Go where I will she follows me, nor stops
Drooping for the malignance of the night.