I.

I seem to lie with drooping eyes, Dreaming sweet dreams, Half longings and half memories, In woods where streams With trembling shades and whirling gleams, Many and bright, In song and light, Are ever, ever flowing; While the wind, if we list to the rustling grass, Which numbers his footsteps as they pass, Seems scarcely to be blowing; And the far-heard voice of Spring, From sunny slopes comes wandering, Calling the violets from the sleep, That bound them under snow-drifts deep, To open their childlike, asking eyes On the new summer's paradise, And mingled with the gurgling waters-- As the dreamy witchery Of Acheloüs' silver-voiced daughters Rose and fell with the heaving sea, Whose great heart swelled with ecstasy-- The song of many a floating bird, Winding through the rifted trees, Is dreamily half-heard-- A sister stream of melodies Rippled by the flutterings Of rapture-quivered wings.