Dreaming I saw, beyond my native hills,
The sunshine shimmer on the laurel trees.
Ah tenderly plead her fond eyes brimmed with tears;
But lightly laughing at her fears I turned,
Eager to clutch my crown of laurel leaves,
Strong-souled and bold to front all winds of heaven--
A lamb and lion molded into one--
And burst away to tread the hollow world.
Ah nut-brown boys that tend the lowing kine,
Ah blithesome plowmen whistling on the glebe,
Ah merry mowers singing in the swaths,
Sweet, simple souls, contented not to know,
Wiser are ye and ye may teach the wise.
Years trode upon the heels of flying years,
And still my _Ignis Fatuus_ flew before;
On thorny paths my eager feet pursued,
Till she whose fond heart doted on my dreams
Passed painless to the pure eternal peace.
Years trode upon the heels of flying years
And touched my brown beard with their silver wands,
And still my _Ignis Fatuus_ flew before;
Through thorns and mire my torn feet followed still,
Till she, my darling, unforgotten Flore,
Nursing her one hope all those weary years
Waiting my tardy coming, drooped and died.
I hear her low, sweet voice among the pines:
O let me dream the dreams of long ago:
I see her fond eyes peeping from the pines:
O let me dream the dreams of long ago
And hide my bronzed face in her golden hair.
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