Dreams Old and Nascent: Old


I have opened the windows to warm my hands on the sill
Where the sunlight soaks in the stone: the afternoon
Is full of dreams, my love; the boys are all still
In a wistful dream of Lorna Doone.

The clink of the shunting engines is sharp and fine
Like savage music striking far off; and there
On the great blue palace at Sydenham, lights stir and shine
Where the glass is domed on the silent air.

There lies the world, my darling, full of wonder and wistfulness, and strange
Recognitions and greetings of half-acquaint things, as I greet the cloud
Of glass palace aloft there, among misty, indefinite things that range
At the back of my life's experience, where dreams from the old lives crowd.

Over the nearness of Norwood Hill, through the mellow veil
Of the afternoon glows still the old romance of David and Dora,
With the old, sweet, soothing tears, and laughter that shakes the sail
Of the ship of the soul over seas where dreamed dreams lure the unoceaned explorer.

All the bygone, hushed years
Streaming back where the mists distil
To forgetfulness: soft-sailing waters where fears
No longer hurt, where the silk sails fill
With that unfelt breeze that ebbs over the seas where the storm
Of living has passed, ebbing on
Through the stirred iridescence that swims in the warm
Wake of a tumult now spent and gone,
Drifts my boat, wistfully lapsing after
The silence of vanishing tears, and the echoes of laughter.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.