LAST night appeared a glimmering star,

High in the heavens its lantern hung,

And round the orbit of my dream

The softly shining planet swung:

I woke, - is it an omen this? -

And felt upon my lips a kiss.

She is the planet, my true-love,

That hovered o'er me in my sleep,

Like fortune-stars that from above

Over their favorites vigil keep.

I am a sculptor, and I prize

The Parian whiteness of her throat;

A student of the stars, and note

The heavenly radiance of her eyes.

My guiding star, should thy soft beams

Be quenched in gloom and disappear,

No other light could e'er illume

The darkness of my pathway here.

A. L.