Of softest verse I dream, of birdsong near,
Of verse to graze the soul like feathers shear;
Of verse whose fluid sense unknots as fair
As does, beneath the waves, Ophelia's hair;
Of silent verse bereft of plot or lilt,
Where soundless rhymes will glide like oars through silt;
Of verse of ancient cloth, some weary shroud,
Impalpable just like both sound and cloud;
Of verse of autumn's eve, beguiled hours swell
By female rite of minor syllable;
Of verse from lovestruck nights, by vervain stress'd,
Wherein exquisite souls are scarce-caressed ...
Of softest verse, rose-like to die, I dream.