The Dream Rock

Amid a rushing mountain stream
A giant boulder stands.
Bright gems of mica o’er it gleam,
And on its breast I love to dream
With mosses in my hands.
The hours flow softly o’er my soul,
More light and swift than foam;
And while the ceaseless torrents roll,
Wild fancies rise from stream and knoll,
And elfin through my vision roam.
They are so fair, and yet so fleet,
I cannot hold their garments fine.
They fade while yet I cry, “Stay, Sweet!”
A farewell glance is all I meet—
An archly murmured, “Not yet thine!”