At Dawn she lay with her profile at that angle br Which, when she sleeps, seems the carved face of an angel. br Her hair a harp, the hand of a breeze follows br And plays, against the white cloud of the pillows. br Then, in a flush of rose, she woke, and her eyes that opened br Swam in blue through her rose flesh that dawned. br From her dew of lips, the drop of one word br Fell like the first of fountains: murmured br 'Darling', upon my ears the song of the first bird. br 'My dream becomes my dream,' she said, 'come true. br I waken from you to my dream of you.' br Oh, my own wakened dream then dared assume br The audacity of her sleep. Our dreams br Poured into each other's arms, like streams.