From the moonlit brink of dreams - I stretch foiled hands to thee, O' born down other streams than eye can think to see ! O' crowned with spirit-beams ! --- O' veiled spiritually !

My dreams and thoughts abate
Their pennons at thy feet,
O' angel born too late
For fallen man to meet !
In what new sensual state
Could our twined lives feel sweet ?

What new emotion must

I dream to think thee mine ?

What purity of lust ?

O' ten-drilled as a vine

Around my caressed trust !

O' dream-pressed spirit-wine !