In the blind darkness of unlit rooms
I was groping,
My curious finger-tips seeking elusive things.
When a touch like the breath of a violet
Brushed me--and was gone.
The myst'ry of delicate moth-wings held me
In thrall.
Hope whispered to me of the open path to the dream-world,
Of wee sylphs in petal-soft dress.
I waited--
Then tenderly sought
In the silence, scarce breathing my prayer
For that dream-caress.
Once more it trembled near me--
The spell of all enchanted things was just beyond my finger-tips.
Softly I crushed it to hold forever
--A narcissus, frail-petalled and dead.
