A Dream

Was it a dream? We saild, I thought we saild,     Martin and I, down a green Alpine stream,     Under oerhanging pines; the morning sun,     On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops,     On the red pinings of their forest floor,     Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines     The mountain skirts, with all their sylvan change     Of bright-leafd chestnuts, and mossd walnut-trees,     And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began.     Swiss chalets glitterd on the dewy slopes,     And from some swarded shelf high up, there came     Notes of wild pastoral music: over all     Rangd, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow.     Upon the mossy rocks at the streams edge.     Backd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood,     Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plants leaves     Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof     Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within,     Under the eaves, peerd rows of Indian corn.     We shot beneath the cottage with the stream.     On the brown rude-carvd balcony two Forms     Came forth, Olivias, Marguerite! and thine.     Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast;     Straw hats bedeckd their heads, with ribbons blue     Which wavd, and on their shoulders fluttering playd.     They saw us, they conferrd; their bosoms heavd,     And more than mortal impulse filld their eyes.     Their lips movd; their white arms, wavd eagerly,     Flashd once, like falling streams:, we rose, we gazd     One moment, on the rapids top, our boat     Hung poisd, and then the darting River of Life,     Loud thundering, bore us by: swift, swift it foamd;     Black under cliffs it racd, round headlands shone.     Soon the plankd cottage mid the sun-warmd pines     Faded, the moss, the rocks; us burning Plains     Bristled with cities, us the Sea receivd