I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me—who knows how?— To thy chamber-window, sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark the silent stream— The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale’s complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must die on shine, O, beloved as thou art! O, lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast: O, press it close to shine again, Where it will break at last. Very few perhaps are familiar with these lines—yet no less a poet than Shelley is their author. Their warm, yet delicate and ethereal imagination will be appreciated by all, but by none so thoroughly as by him who has himself arisen from sweet dreams of one beloved to bathe in the aromatic air of a southern midsummer night. One of the finest poems by Willis—the very best in my opinion which he has ever written—has no doubt, through this same defect of undue brevity, been kept back from its proper position, not less in the The shadows lay along Broadway, ’Twas near the twilight-tide— And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walk’d she; but, viewlessly, Walk’d spirits at her side. Peace charm’d the street beneath her feet, And Honor charm’d the air; And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good as fair— For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true— For heart was cold to all but gold, And the rich came not to won, But honor’d well her charms to sell. If priests the selling do. Now walking there was one more fair— A slight girl, lily-pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail— ’Twixt Want and Scorn she walk’d forlorn, And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow From this world’s peace to pray For as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman’s heart gave way!— But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway! In this composition we find it difficult to recognize the Willis who has written so many mere “verses of society.” The lines are not only richly ideal, but full of energy, while they breathe an earnestness, an evident sincerity of sentiment, for which we look in vain throughout all the other works of this author.