The Hours Poem by James Logie Robertson

I saw once in my dreams a Dreamer sit
With half-shut eyes upon a bank of flowers
Bedropt with pearl and gold, the various dowers
Of all the Graces; and with hands fast knit
In long array I saw a vision flit—
A glorious sisterhood, stately as towers—
Before the Dreamer: And these were the Hours.
And as they passed the bank each knelt on it
And bowed her head upon the Dreamer's knees:
And some he crowned awry with chaplets, green
And fresh with flowers, to which clung feeding bees;
Or careless necklaced some with pearly sheen
Or gold; but mostly in material ease
He sat, and let the Angels pass unseen.