I DREAMED of Thee, O Wonder, with the sheen
Amid thy temples of a sanguine gem,
And warm, between thy garment's purple hem,
The languid passions of that Persian Queen
Who sate with she-slaves in her quiet gloom,
And felt the sob of fountains and the keen
Perfume of lotus, and the murmurous lean
Of windy flowers, and life's impending doom.
O dream of dazzled senses and the pain
Of conscious happiness! I woke beneath
The dark maturing dawn, while earth again
Renewed its patient toil for human sake,
And felt the tender calm of such a death
As thine, O Wonder, dream whose death it was to wake.