Ambrose Bierce

Black Beetles in Amber Ambrose Bierce

I dreamed I was dreaming one morn as I layIn a garden with flowers teeming. On an island I lay in a mystical bay, In the dream that I dreamed I was dreaming. The ghost of a scent-had it followed me thereFrom the place where I truly was resting?It filled like an anthem the aisles of the air, The presence of roses attesting. Yet I thought in the dream that I dreamed I dreamedThat the place was all barren of roses-That it only seemed; and the place, I deemed, Was the Isle of Bewildered Noses. Full many a seaman had testifiedHow all who sailed near were enchanted, And landed to search (and in searching died) For the roses the Sirens had planted. For the Sirens were dead, and the billows boomedIn the stead of their singing forever; But the roses bloomed on the graves of the doomed, Though man had discovered them never. I thought in my dream 'twas an idle tale, A delusion that mariners cherished-That the fragrance loading the conscious galeWas the ghost of a rose long per