Music And Moonlight

White roses, like a mist Upon a terraced height, And 'mid the roses, opal, moonbeam-kissed, A fountain falling white. And as the full moon flows, Orbed fire, into a cloud, There is a fragrant sound as if a rose Had sighed its soul aloud. There is a whisper pale, As if a rose awoke, And, having heard in sleep the nightingale, Still dreaming of it spoke. Now, as from some vast shell A giant pearl rolls white, From the dividing cloud, that winds compel, The moon sweeps, big and bright. Moon-mists and pale perfumes, Wind-wafted through the dusk: There is a sound as if unfolding blooms Voiced their sweet thoughts in musk. A spirit is abroad Of music and of sleep: The moon and mists have made for it a road Adown the violet deep. It breathes a tale to me, A tale of ancient day; And like a dream again I seem to see Those towers old and gray. That castle by the foam, Where once our hearts made moan: And through the night again you seem to come Down statued stairs of stone. Again I feel your hair, Dark, fragrant, deep and cool: You lift your face up, pale with its despair, And wildly beautiful. Again your form I strain; Again, unto my heart: Again your lips, again and yet again, I press and then we part. As centuries ago We did in Camelot; Where once we lived that life of bliss and woe, That you remember not. When you were Guinevere, And I was Launcelot. . I have remembered many and many a year, And you you have forgot.