Dream-Death

There is a breath at midnight that comes in Sad as a sigh, for then the day is dead And the young morrow doth his course begin, Sowing new dreams in many a dreamer's head. And there are two have waked in one dark bed Just as the last stroke fades in lonely air, And having whispered, half-awake, have sped With silent feet into sleep's poppied lair. She with the morning wakes, but he is gone; Her tears and kisses are of no avail-- Perchance it was his good-bye murmured on The midnight in death's visionary dale. Ah, woe! she thought 'twas in sleep's fairyland When in the dark he pressed her warm, soft hand.