A strange little Dream
On a long star-beam
Ran down from the midnight skies,
To curly-hair’d Fred
Asleep in his bed,
With the lids on his merry blue eyes.
Under each lid
The thin Dream slid,
And spread to a picture inside,
A new World there,
Most strange and rare,
Tho’ just by our garden-side.
Rivers and Rocks,
And a Treasure-Box,
And Floating in Air without wings,
And the Speaking Beast,
And a Royal Feast,
My chair beside the King’s;
A Land of Flowers,
And of lofty Towers
Carved over in marble white
With living Shapes
Of Panthers and Apes
That gambol in ceaseless flight;
And a Cellar small
With its Cave in the Wall
Stretching many a mile underground!
And the Rope from the Moon!—
Fred woke too soon,
For its end could never be found.
