Midnight Dreams Poem by May Mustang

Moonlit, dew drenched blossom scent
Of summer gardens; these can bring you all
The dreams in starlit silence fall;
Sweet songs are heard and lent.

From Father's heart seemed loath to part
That girl of royal charms,
But Mother smiled on the fairest child
She had ever held in her arms.

The trees did wave their plumed crests,
The glad birds caroled clear;
And I, of all the doting guests,
Was the only sullen there!

There was not one, who had wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very rocks around, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here? "

And I could utter no reply;
Forsooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

So, resting on the calm bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor specters of the perished spring,
In famished troops, will fly.

Why should we be glad at all?
The leaves are hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen! "

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in a fit of peevish woe,
I cried upon the moor.

One thousand gleaming fires
Seemed to kindle in the air;
One thousand silvery lyres
Contrasted with the dark and empty lair:

Methought, the very air I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my pride was wreathed
With that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To their strange minstrelsy,
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me.

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
So that we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

Let grief reach the heart in the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

To thee, the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
That brightens more and more!

And could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
Because they live to die.

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, will still sometimes deem
Her fond creations true.

Her creations, scenes of nature in gentle light;
Of skies, so beauteous after storm
At night a moon so unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly down on everyone's' unique form.

We dream.