Classic Poem

All last night I had quiet
—In a fragrant dream and warm:
She had become my Sabbath,
—And round my neck, her arm.

I knew the warmth in my dreaming;
—The fragrance, I suppose,
Was her hair about me,
—Or else she wore a rose.

Her hair, I think; for likest
—Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring
Loitering down wet woodways
—Treads it sauntering.

No light, nor any speaking;
—Fragrant only and warm.
Enough to know my lodging,
—The white Sabbath of her arm.