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Matthew Arnold - A Dream
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Was it a dream? We sail`d, I thought we sail`d,
Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream,
Border`d, each bank, with pines; the morning sun,
On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops,
On the red pinings of their forest-floor, 
Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines
The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change
Of bright-leaf`d chestnuts and moss`d walnut-trees
And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began.
Swiss chalets glitter`d on the dewy slopes, 
And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came
Notes of wild pastoral music--over all
Ranged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow.
Upon the mossy rocks at the stream`s edge,
Back`d by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood, 
Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant`s leaves
Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof
Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within,
Under the eaves, peer`d rows of Indian corn.
We shot beneath the cottage with the stream. 
On the brown, rude-carved balcony, two forms
Came forth--Olivia`s, Marguerite! and thine.
Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast;
Straw hats bedeck`d their heads, with ribbons blue,
Which danced, and on their shoulders, fluttering, play`d. 
They saw us, they conferred; their bosoms heaved,
And more than mortal impulse fill`d their eyes.
Their lips moved; their white arms, waved eagerly,
Flash`d once, like falling streams; we rose, we gazed.
One moment, on the rapid`s top, our boat 
Hung poised--and then the darting river of Life
(Such now, methought, it was), the river of Life,
Loud thundering, bore us by; swift, swift it foam`d,
Black under cliffs it raced, round headlands shone.
Soon the plank`d cottage by the sun-warm`d pines 
Faded--the moss--the rocks; us burning plains,
Bristled with cities, us the sea received.
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