Poems (Hinchman)/In last year's palace, built of dream and cloud
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
XXVI
In last year's palace, built of dream and cloud,
I met a figure with bow'd head, and eyes
That cast no light before them, and his sighs
Spoke loud and strange, and bid no man be proud:
I met a figure with bow'd head, and eyes
That cast no light before them, and his sighs
Spoke loud and strange, and bid no man be proud:
"I am that phantom all ye men call death;
And him who dreams I trip up by the heel
And tell him that his dreams are nowise real.—
And cloud and dream and pleasure vanisheth.
And him who dreams I trip up by the heel
And tell him that his dreams are nowise real.—
And cloud and dream and pleasure vanisheth.
"And him who lives I weave about with dreams
Until his sorrow grow a phantom soul
And he become a dreamer and is whole
Of cutting sorrow, drown'd in reveries' streams."
Until his sorrow grow a phantom soul
And he become a dreamer and is whole
Of cutting sorrow, drown'd in reveries' streams."
·········
Beyond the portal where my hand now knocks
What great, soul-startling, distant phantom looms?
I follow unknown halls to hidden rooms
Behind the door that this new day unlocks.
What great, soul-startling, distant phantom looms?
I follow unknown halls to hidden rooms
Behind the door that this new day unlocks.