THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD(14)

    From groves of spice, O'er fields of rice, Athwart the lotus-stream,I bring for you,Aglint with dew A little lovely dream.

    Sweet, shut your eyes,The wild fire-fiies Dance through the fairy neem；From the poppy-boleFor you I stole A little lovely dream.

    Dear eyes, good-night,In golden light The stars around you gleam；On you I pressWith soft caress A little lovely dream.