This page has been validated.
Observing it as if it were some white
And foreign flower, not certain in his garden
To thrive, nor like to die. Then with a vague
And wavering effect of shaking her
Affectionately back to his own world,
Which never would be hers, he smiled once more
And set her free. “You should have gone to bed
When first I told you. You had best go now,
And while you are still dreaming. In the morning
Your dreams, if you remember them, will all
Be less than one bird singing in a tree.”
And foreign flower, not certain in his garden
To thrive, nor like to die. Then with a vague
And wavering effect of shaking her
Affectionately back to his own world,
Which never would be hers, he smiled once more
And set her free. “You should have gone to bed
When first I told you. You had best go now,
And while you are still dreaming. In the morning
Your dreams, if you remember them, will all
Be less than one bird singing in a tree.”
Isolt of the white hands, unchangeable,
Half childlike and half womanly, looked up
Into her father’s eyes and shook her head,
Smiling, but less for joy than certainty:
“There’s a bird then that I have never seen
In Brittany; and I have never heard him.
Good night, my father.” She went slowly out,
Leaving him in the gloom.
Half childlike and half womanly, looked up
Into her father’s eyes and shook her head,
Smiling, but less for joy than certainty:
“There’s a bird then that I have never seen
In Brittany; and I have never heard him.
Good night, my father.” She went slowly out,
Leaving him in the gloom.
“Good night, my child,
Good night,” he said, scarce hearing his own voice
For crowded thoughts that were unseizable
Good night,” he said, scarce hearing his own voice
For crowded thoughts that were unseizable
[ 17 ]
