| |
| I HAVE opened the window 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, |
5 |
| Like savage music striking far off, and there |
|
| On the great, uplifted blue palace, lights stir and shine |
|
| Where the glass is domed in the blue, soft air. |
|
| |
| There lies the world, my darling, full of wonder and
wistfulness and strange |
|
| Recognition and greetings of half-acquaint things, as I greet
the cloud |
10 |
| Of blue palace aloft there, among misty indefinite dreams that
range |
|
| At the back of my life’s horizon, where the dreamings of
past lives crowd. |
|
| |
| Over the nearness of Norwood Hill, through the mellow veil |
|
| Of the afternoon glows to me the old romance of David and
Dora, |
|
| With the old, sweet, soothing tears, and laughter that shakes
the sail |
15 |
| Of the ship of the soul over seas where dreamed dreams lure
the unoceaned explorer. |
|
| |
| All the bygone, hushèd years |
|
| Streaming back where the mist distils |
|
| Into forgetfulness: soft-sailing waters where fears |
|
| No longer shake, where the silk sail fills |
20 |
| With an unfelt breeze that ebbs over the seas, where the storm |
|
| Of living has passed, on and on |
|
| Through the coloured iridescence that swims in the warm |
|
| Wake of the tumult now spent and gone, |
|
| Drifts my boat, wistfully lapsing after |
25 |
| The mists of vanishing tears and the echo of laughter. |
