To Ethelinde.

From: Poems (1844)
Author: Christopher Pearse Cranch
Published: Carey and Hart 1844 Philadelphia



FAIR one, half known in memory, half ideal,
Who in my morning dream wert by my side
Walking and close-communing—like a bride
Leaning upon my arm:—ah, why not real,
Beautiful vision, that white dream-like form,
Those soft, dark eyes, those clustered tresses curling
So tendril-like adown thy cheek! Lo, whirling
In my chaotic fancy comes a storm,
Unseen and silent, but enough to scare
Thy bright form from my side, while ran my joy
Fullest and deepest. What dost thou destroy,
Relentless Day! Waking I murmur “Where,
Where is bright Ethelinde? Is it all o’er?”
Then close my eyes and try to dream of her once more.


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