Because her eyes were far too deep br And holy for a laugh to leap br Across the brink where sorrow tried br To drown within the amber tide; br Because the looks, whose ripples kissed br The trembling lids through tender mist, br Were dazzled with a radiant gleam-- br Because of this I called her 'Dream.' br br Because the roses growing wild br About her features when she smiled br Were ever dewed with tears that fell br With tenderness ineffable; br Because her lips might spill a kiss br That, dripping in a world like this, br Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream br To sweetness--so I called her 'Dream.' br br Because I could not understand br The magic touches of a hand br That seemed, beneath her strange control, br To smooth the plumage of the soul br And calm it, till, with folded wings, br It half forgot its flutterings, br And, nestled in her palm, did seem br To trill a song that called her 'Dream.' br br Because I saw her, in a sleep br As dark and desolate and deep br And fleeting as the taunting night br That flings a vision of delight br To some lorn martyr as he lies br In slumber ere the day he dies-- br Because she vanished like a gleam br Of glory, do I call her 'Dream.