And now and then it surely seemed The little stream was laughing low, As if its sleepy wavelets dreamed Such dreams as only children know. So still that not the faintest breath Did stir the shadows in the air; It would have seemed the home of Death, Had I not felt Life sleeping there. And slow and soft, and soft and slow, From darkling earth and darkened sky Wide wings of gloom waved to and fro, And spectral shadows flitted by. And then, methought, upon the sward I saw -- or was it starlight's ray? Or angels come to watch and guard The valley till the dawn of day? Is every lower life the ward Of spirits more divinely wrought? 'Tis sweet to believe 'tis God's, and hard To think 'tis but a poet's thought. But God's or poet's thought, I ween, My senses did not fail me when I saw veiled angels watch that scene And guard its sleep, as they guard men. Sweet sang the stream as on it pressed, As sorrow sings a heart to sleep; As a mother sings one child to rest, And for the dead one still will weep. I walked adown the singing stream, The lilies slept on either side; My heart -- it could not help but dream At eve, and after eventide. Ah! dreams of such a lofty reach With more than earthly fancies fraught, That not the strongest wings of speech Could ever touch their lowest thought. Dreams of the Bright, the Fair, the Far -- Heart-fancies flashing Heaven's hue -- That swept around, as sweeps a star The boundless orbit of the True. Yea! dreams all free from earthly taint, Where human passion played no part, As pure as thoughts that thrill a saint, Or hunt an archangelic heart. Ah! dreams that did not rise from sense, And rose too high to stoop to it, And framed aloft like frankincense In censers round the infinite. Yea! dreams that vied with angels' flight! And, soaring, bore my heart away Beyond the far star-bounds of night, Unto the everlasting day. How long I strolled beside the stream I do not know, nor may I say; But when the poet ceased to dream The priest went on his knees to pray. I felt as sure a seraph feels When in some golden hour of grace God smiles, and suddenly reveals A new, strange glory in His face. Ah! starlit valley! Lilies white! The poet dreamed -- ye slumbered deep! But when the priest knelt down that night And prayed, why woke ye from your sleep? * * * * * The stream sang down the valley fair, I saw the wakened lilies nod, I knew they heard me whisper there, "How beautiful art Thou, my God!" At Last Into a temple vast and dim, Solemn and vast and dim, Just when the last sweet Vesper Hymn Was floating far away, With eyes that tabernacled tears -- Her heart the home of tears -- And cheeks wan with the woes of years, A woman went one day.