Reverie, a luminescent borrowing from the French rêverie—itself descended from Old French resver, “to wander”—invites the imagination to drift like a gondola along the sinuous canals of thought. Though its letters bear no direct Roman seal, the concept would have pleased the ancients, who might have filed it under the philosophically serviceable heading somnium vigilans, “the waking dream,” that Ovid sprinkled throughout his Metamorphoses whenever mortals slipped the leash of gravity. In English usage the word names that hush between intention and inspiration, an airy interlude Debussy clothed in velvet harmonies; as a given name it offers the same gentle suspension, allowing its bearer to hover a delicate half-step outside the ordinary din—a modest yet intriguing position, if the 81 newborns who answered to it in the United States last year (ranking a discreet 869th) are any indication. Thus Reverie commends itself to parents who, with scholarly composure and the faintest arch of an eyebrow, wish to confer a title that murmurs rather than shouts, conjuring moonlit porticoes, whispered sonatas, and the sweet liberty of unhurried thought.