THE UNFINISHED DREAM
They passed me, unseeing, a waft of flocking linners;
Sadly I fared on my way;
And came in my dream to a dreamlike habitation,
Close-shut, festooned and grey.
Pausing, I gazed at the porch dust-still, vine-wreathed,
Worn the stone steps thereto,
Mute hung its bell, whence a stony head looked downward,
Grey 'gainst the sky's pale-blue-—
Strange to me: strange. . . .
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