HE lifted his head,
And the Vision that stood there smiled.
“ O Poet,” she said,
“ I have come at thy bidding ; no child
Of thy fancy, dead,
But living and breathing, as thou.
Take me now ! ”
His heart, how it burned !
But he thought, “ ’T is a dream ; if I move,
It will vanish,” and yearned
With an infinite yearning, and strove
With his doubts, till she turned —
She, the Vision — and sorrowful went,
Ere he knew her intent.
He leapt to his feet,
And seized on her undulant veil,
With its odor as sweet
As the May time ; and lo! it did trail
In his hand, all complete!
She had gone ; and he cherished, forlorn,
The veil she had worn.
The veil he upraised.
He showed it to men, and they cried,
As they noted, amazed,
The diaphanous wonder, “ What pride
Of invention ! ” and praised.
But sweeter and sadder he grew,
And replied, “If you knew!”
Henry Bannister Merwin.