When My Soul Findeth Wings

Like roses the bright dream did pass,  
    On swift, noiseless footsteps away;
Like glistening dew on the grass,
    Dissolving beneath the sun’s ray.

Like voice of the lark that doth soar,  
    Through the golden haze of the dawn;
You hear it and bend to adore,
    Just hear it and then it is gone.

The lark on his swift, flashing wings,  
   Keeps pace with the flowers in their flight;
And that’s why when soaring he sings,
   And passes so swiftly from sight.

I slept, and a vision did see,  
   Of eyes that were tender and blue;
I awoke to know that for me
    The vision may never come true.

The lark soars no more in the skies,  
    He’s gone with the roses and dew;
The face with the soft tender eyes,
    Comes never to gladden my view.

My memory holds images fair,  
   Of all these beautiful things;
Which I will be seeking somewhere,
   When my soul, as lark, findeth wings.