FROM the depths of dreams I am drawn
To the inner depth of a pine,
That near my window keeps the dawn—
A dawn that is wholly mine.
Dream-rest and pine-rest,
And a cool, gray path between—
A cool, gray path from the night’s breast
To the heart of the living green.

To the depths of dreams I go
On the sounds of falling rain,
That in the night-time gently flow
In a stream on my window-pane.
Stream-rest and dream-rest,
And a cool, dark path between—
A cool, dark path from the rain’s breast
To the heart of the soft unseen.