Her thoughts environed me, for with a smile And gesture of her hand, the group arose; And pausing as they neared me, for awhile, Drew round, encircling, in converging rows, Enshrouding me in incense. A repose Crept through my senses, such as sweetly stole Over the Lotus-eaters—such as throws Its dreamy spells around the bounding soul, Like silken lassos, where the waves of Lethé roll. And I was borne aloft through azure air, Her warm, white arms around me, and her cheek Close pressed to mine; her cooling, curling hair Bathing my temples, as in Easter week, In Rome’s cathedrals, ere the Fathers speak, They lave in holy-water. Unopposed, My burning, lightning-learning lips would seek With hers communion; and though undisclosed The secrets whispered, yet our hearts full well supposed. We floated on, with wings extended wide, To that fair region, where the thoughts of men, The holiest they breathe, like angels glide, Gathering the purely beautiful, and then Returning laden to the earth again— Imagination’s realm—the vast Unknown, Full of as glorious images as when The first Thought-angel gazed within, alone, And will be while the world has evil to atone. I touched Futurity’s thrice veiled domain. And felt the moments of swift coming years Fall sparklingly around me, like the rain From over-heavy clouds of unwept tears, Dropping through sunlight; while my eager ears Caught from far sounding avenues, a name Like mine, breathed in the tones affection hears Swelling so sweetly on the earth the same, Though lowly laid in flowers, the lips from whence they came. My brain reeled with repletion, and no more, Through such celestial scenes, and thus to be Clothed with mortality, could I explore. Fading, still fading slowly, I could see The rolling prairie-land of Poesy, Blooming with stars, and eastwardly a light, Like the full moon rising gloriously, Which streamed o’er it from Heaven—then our flight, Unwilled, was earthward, with the soul’s archangel, Night. Full many a shadow o’er the sun and me, Subduing both a time, has passed since then; And darker, colder ones in store may be Unopened, with the woes awaiting men: But still, in rose-wreathed summer, sometimes, when The hour is noontide, and the noontide fair, Sweet Idleness bends over me again And whispers of Elysium—while Care Flaps her broad, vulture wings and melts away in air. * * * * * RAIN AND SUNLIGHT IN OCTOBER. BY EMILY HERRMANN.