An Idle Dream
O mercury, lend me your twisted staff,
And lend me your winged shoon;
For I would away, like a shooting-star,
To the other side of the moon,
And find me a little wee world alone,
A tiny planet to call my own;
Where song-birds wanton, unscathed by man,
And sing as never an earth-bird can;
Where streamlets murmer, “Forget, forget!”
And never a tear has fallen yet.
There would I fly in each vexed mood,
To rest in the bosom of solitude.
On shell-pink blossoms at ease I'd lie,
While the young buds crooned me a lullaby:
There a rich accord is the voice of all,
And even the dew hath a silver fall;
There delicate beings of heavenly birth,
Too fair and fragile to live on earth,
Flit and flutter in airy play,
And laugh wild music the livelong day.
There fruit trees cluster, and creepers twine,
And there would I mingle a nectar wine;
And I would distil, from the plants above,
A magical perfume and call it “Love.”
Then gayly return to the world of men,
And keep my secret from mortal ken
Up and down through the earth to go,
And ever a heavenly breeze should blow
And waft my perfume to each man's heart
Till all make proof of its soothing art;
And loving-kindness, and joy, and rest,
Should heal the sorrows of each man's breast.
Then, Mercury, lend me your twisted staff,
And lend me your cap and shoon;
For I would away, like a shooting star,
To the other side of the moon..
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