A DREAM

I often have this strange and poignant dream
Of a lovely maiden who is sweet and dear;
A beautiful dame of yesteryear,
She kneels with reverence beside a stream.

And then in the night she comes to me,
In the moonlit mountains, tender, of the spring,
Which inspire songbirds in the trees to sing,
In a minor tone, near the fountains by the sea.

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ