Only in Dreams

Little grey dreams, 
I sit at the ocean's edge, 
At the grey ocean's edge, 
With you on my lap.
I launch you, one by one, 
And one by one, 
Little grey dreams, 
Under the grey, grey clouds, 
Out on the grey, grey sea, 
You go sailing away, from my empty lap, 
Little grey dreams.

Sailing! sailing! 
Into the black 
At the horizon's edge.

Again, as always, when the shadows fall,
    In that sweet space between the dark and day, 
I leave the present and its fretful claims
    And seek the dim past where my memories stay. 
I dream an old, forgotten, far-off dream, 
     And think old thoughts and live old scenes anew, 
Till suddenly I reach the heart of Spring—
    The spring that brought me you!
I see again a little woody lane, 
    The moonlight rifting golden through the trees;
I hear the plaintive chirp of drowsy bird
    Lulled dreamward by a tender, vagrant breeze;
I hold your hand, I look into your eyes,
    I touch your lips,—oh, peerless, matchless dower!
Oh, Memory thwarting Time and Space and Death!
    Oh, Little Perfect Hour!

A string of shiny days we had, 
     A spotless sky, a yellow sun; 
And neither you nor I was sad
     When that was through and done. 

But when, one day, a boy comes by 
   And pleads me with your happiest vow, 
“There was a lad I knew—” I'll sigh; 
   “I do not know him now.”

And when another girl shall pass
   And speak a little name I said, 
Then you will say “There was a lass—
   I wonder is she dead.”

And each of us will sigh, and start 
   A-talking of a faded year, 
And lay a hand above a heart, 
   And dry a pretty tear.