my chamber holds the evening's hush,

a quiet, deep and settled blush,

where thoughts in tender twilight rush,

and break in sighs against the plush.

୨୧

companions of my lonesome hours,

the white-washed shelf, the azure bowers,

a porcelain vase of painted flowers,

and velvet stool where soft light showers.

୨୧

i rise and seek the windows high,

where garden scents and starbeams lie.

there, fancy paints, as clouds float by,

a form to meet my waiting eye.

୨୧

a phantom touch, a whispered word,

a flight of fancy, lightly stirred,

a longing, like a captive bird,

that beats its wings, by silence heard.

୨୧

yet hope shall shape these visions fond,

to melodies and strings respond;

i'll pluck my harp with gentle bond,

and sing of loves the world beyond.

୨୧