  Touched with some divine repose, Isabelle has fallen asleep, Like the perfume from the rose In and out her breathings creep. Dewy are her rosy palms, In her cheek the flushes flit, And a dream her spirit calms With the pleasant thought of it. All the rounded heavens show Like the concave of a pearl, Stars amid the opal glow Little fronds of flame unfurl. Then upfloats a planet strange, Not the moon that mortals know, With a magic mountain range, Cones and craters white as snow; Something different yet the same— Rain by rainbows glorified, Roses lit with lambent flame— ’Tis the maid moon’s other side. When the sleeper floats from sleep, She will smile the vision o’er, See the veinÉd valleys deep, No one ever saw before. Yet the moon is not betrayed, (Ah! the subtle Isabelle!) She’s a maiden, and a maid Maiden secrets will not tell. |
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