What is it you ask me, darling? All my stories, child, you know; I have no strange dreams to tell you, Pictures I have none to show.
Tell you glorious scenes of travel? Nay, my child, that cannot be, I have seen no foreign countries, Marvels none on land or sea.
Yet strange sights in truth I witness, And I gaze until I tire, Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire.
There, last night, I saw a cavern, Black as pitch; within it lay Coiled in many folds a dragon, Glaring as if turned at bay.
And a knight in dismal armour On a winged eagle came, To do battle with this dragon; And his crest was all of flame.
As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, By a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round.
That was gone, and lo! before me, A cathedral vast and grim; I could almost hear the organ Peal alone the arches dim.
As I watched the wreathed pillars, Groves of stately palms arose, And a group of swarthy Indians Stealing on some sleeping foes.
Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, Dashed and sparkled; and beside Lay a broken marble monster, Mouth and eyes were staring wide.
Then I saw a maiden wreathing Starry flowers in garlands sweet; Did she see the fiery serpent That was wrapped about her feet?
That fell crashing all and vanished; And I saw two armies close — I could almost hear the clarions, And the shouting of the foes.
They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild, Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child.
And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears, And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years.
Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay, Till the shade had gathered round me — And the fire had died away.
Cookies on Poetry Cove