Like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon Still keeps the memory of one secret star That in the dusk of a remembered June Thrilled the strange hour with beauty from afar— And perilous spells of twilight snare his heart, And wistful moods his common thoughts subdue, And life seethes by him utterly apart— Last night I dreamed, today I dream, of you. Gleams downward strike; bright bubbles upward hover Through the charmed air; far sea-winds cool my brow. Invisible lips tell me I shall discover Today a temple, a mystery, a vow ... The cycle rounds: only the false seems true. Last night I dreamed, today I dream, of you.
Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds: Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.
Whirlpools of purple and gold, Winds from the mountains of cinnabar, Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancing Amid the vermilion pavilions, against the jade balustrades; Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light; Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards; Rippling, quivering flutters; repulse and surrender, The sun broidered upon the rain, The rain rustling with the sun.
Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds: Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street.
O seeded grass, you army of little men Crawling up the low slopes with quivering quick blades of steel: You who storm millions of graves, tiny green tentacles of earth, Interlace your tangled webs tightly over my heart And do not let me go: For I would lie here for ever and watch with one eye The pilgrimaging ants in your dull savage jungles, While with the other I see the long lines of the slope Break in mid air, a wave surprisingly arrested; And above it, wavering, bodiless, colorless, unreal, The long thin lazy fingers of the heat.
Not noisily, but solemnly and pale, In a meditative ecstasy, you entered life, As for some strange rite, to which you alone held the clue. Child, life did not give rude strength to you; From the beginning you would seem to have thrown away, As something cold and cumbersome, that armor men use against death. You would perchance look on death face to face and from him wrest the secret Whether his face wears oftenest a smile or no? Strange, old and silent being, there is something Infinitely vast in your intense tininess: I think you could point out with a smile some curious star Far off in the heavens which no man has seen before.