Beneath the dome of ancient night,
When owls awake, and poets write,
My lover sleeps, the sylvan child,
With flowers that are strange and wild.
A million miles away is she,
Until she wakes and smiles on me,
Twin mirrors of unconcious dreams,
To cast a light on all that seems.
What can we find that is not here
Between her heart and mine,
One precious moment made more dear
When our two souls entwine.