Arthur Davison Ficke

IN halls of sleep you wandered by,

This time so indistinguishably

I cannot remember aught of it,

Save that I know last night we met.

I know it by the cloudy thrill

That in my heart is quivering still;

And sense of loveliness forgot

Teases my fancy out of thought.

Though with the night the vision wanes,

Its haunting presence still may last—

As odor of flowers faint remains

In halls where late a queen has passed.