The even winds guard my sleep, 

Long last in the garden I weep

For the last of the spring breeze,

Carrying the warm dews with unease. 

The primroses bent and nod 

In the first gust of summer hot,

Shatter over the moon-lit path

Of the fluid marble that hath

Melted and curved and lines entwined

Like a harp’s string unwind, 

Swaying in the current to the tune

Of the soothing light of moon. 

The music of the moon and night, 

Bearing a distant woeful light, 

Sends my dream far in exile

On a frosted star, or desolate isle,

Alone seeking the way home

While a dreamless sleep as my poem

May possess my disenchanted heart

That in the morning light may part. 

Soon will come that newborn gleam, 

The hours of a bracing, vibrant theme, 

Yet shall the stillness of now linger on, 

In the verge of night and coming of dawn,

My heart calls for the past, 

The dreamless state ever-last. 

Tis the majesty of sun that I dare dream, 

In a bed of temporal void the seasons did seam.