Silver
bluebell, are you singing,
Or,
perchance, my heart is dreaming?
Light from
rosy icon flashes
Falling on
my golden lashes.
Though
I"m not that gentle infant
in the
flapping splash of pigeons,
Yet my
dreams are sweet and distant,
Somewhere in
the woodland regions.
I don"t
need the narrow house,
Word and
mystery won"t welcome.
Teach me,
please, to dream and drowse,
Fall asleep
and never waken.
1917
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