Poems (Sackville)/Dreams
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For works with similar titles, see Dreams.
DREAMS
To Sheelah
Scene.—A deep valley wrapped in shadow
The Man.—His Dreams
The Man
Hither they drove me, there is nothing now
To help me, they will claim their lives from me—
They will wound me with their unrelenting wings.
(He gazes wildly round.)
The gods have wrought my soul in no wise mood
Nor worthy; seeing they gave it human life,
And love of beauty and song and sweet desires—
Then bade it wander, lonely, over earth.
A weaver of dreams it was, yet very weak—
Like a mere raindrop hanging on a flower
Which mirrors the blue sky and the green grass,
Yet stays, a mirror only of fair things.
So I conceived a thousand radiant dreams—
Yet they lacked life—the fever of the world
Consumed me and the fettering hands of men.
And when I died those dreams my soul conceived
Came to me—calling eagerly for life.
But I had nothing left except my soul,
Therefore they said, 'Your soul must pay the price;
Your soul must feed us scattered into shreds—
Your soul must grant us life' I fled from them—
Fled with my new-born freedom hot in me—
Fled from the ancient torture of the world—
Found neither shelter nor rest, respite nor peace,
And now they drive me even to their own land,
And I must yield my soul.
(He is surrounded by indefinite forms which gradually grow more distinct. Eyes gaze at him, hands stretch towards him. He no longer tries to escape, but remains motionless. A voice now rises from the multitude.)
To help me, they will claim their lives from me—
They will wound me with their unrelenting wings.
(He gazes wildly round.)
The gods have wrought my soul in no wise mood
Nor worthy; seeing they gave it human life,
And love of beauty and song and sweet desires—
Then bade it wander, lonely, over earth.
A weaver of dreams it was, yet very weak—
Like a mere raindrop hanging on a flower
Which mirrors the blue sky and the green grass,
Yet stays, a mirror only of fair things.
So I conceived a thousand radiant dreams—
Yet they lacked life—the fever of the world
Consumed me and the fettering hands of men.
And when I died those dreams my soul conceived
Came to me—calling eagerly for life.
But I had nothing left except my soul,
Therefore they said, 'Your soul must pay the price;
Your soul must feed us scattered into shreds—
Your soul must grant us life' I fled from them—
Fled with my new-born freedom hot in me—
Fled from the ancient torture of the world—
Found neither shelter nor rest, respite nor peace,
And now they drive me even to their own land,
And I must yield my soul.
(He is surrounded by indefinite forms which gradually grow more distinct. Eyes gaze at him, hands stretch towards him. He no longer tries to escape, but remains motionless. A voice now rises from the multitude.)
The Voice
Where is my life?
The Man
My soul
Conceived you in the thoughtless Spring, then came
The wasted Summer feverish with drought—
I had no longer power to bring you forth.
My soul
Conceived you in the thoughtless Spring, then came
The wasted Summer feverish with drought—
I had no longer power to bring you forth.
The Voice
You said: 'I will make a blossom of the world—
The sap is parched in stem and branch and leaf,
Yet it shall bud again and shed soft scent,
And lift a fragrant odour to God's throne—
Even if my blood forms the new sap thereof.'
The sap is parched in stem and branch and leaf,
Yet it shall bud again and shed soft scent,
And lift a fragrant odour to God's throne—
Even if my blood forms the new sap thereof.'
The man
The breath of April blowing on green fields
Has power to ripen and to fructify,
Because the pleasant rain is in its breath,
But when fierce Autumn comes, what then—what then?
Has power to ripen and to fructify,
Because the pleasant rain is in its breath,
But when fierce Autumn comes, what then—what then?
The Voice
I should even now have bloomed a rose in Heaven.
You never gave me roots nor planted me,
Wherefore I claim my life.
You never gave me roots nor planted me,
Wherefore I claim my life.
The Man
Bend to my lips—
A portion of my soul awaits you—take—
(A shadow bends down and kisses the Man's lips. It absorbs a portion of his life and rises, a tangible shape. Another voice sounds.)
A portion of my soul awaits you—take—
(A shadow bends down and kisses the Man's lips. It absorbs a portion of his life and rises, a tangible shape. Another voice sounds.)
The Voice
I have grown weary waiting for my life.
It is most pitiful to feel the pulse
Of some rich, passionate, human heart, not mine—
The tender infinite cries of human souls—
The fervent happiness of human lips;
These things are borne to me from distant spheres,
And you must yield your soul to guide me thither.
It is most pitiful to feel the pulse
Of some rich, passionate, human heart, not mine—
The tender infinite cries of human souls—
The fervent happiness of human lips;
These things are borne to me from distant spheres,
And you must yield your soul to guide me thither.
The Man
Spirits are sterile things, and need not life,
Nor tears, nor clashing discords of the world.
Nor tears, nor clashing discords of the world.
The Voice
You made a little temple in your soul—
I never filled it. You with glowing hands
Promised me wreaths and garlands of fair flowers.
They blossomed not. You called me love—I died—
You scarcely wept, and now I come again
To claim the human life you promised me.
I never filled it. You with glowing hands
Promised me wreaths and garlands of fair flowers.
They blossomed not. You called me love—I died—
You scarcely wept, and now I come again
To claim the human life you promised me.
The Man
The various actors in the perpetual show,
The ceaseless pageantry of mutable things,
Dazzled my eyes—I could not look on you.
Yet take your share of life from out my soul.
(Another shadow approaches and bends down to the Man's lips. As it rises it takes a definite form. Another voice is heard.)
The ceaseless pageantry of mutable things,
Dazzled my eyes—I could not look on you.
Yet take your share of life from out my soul.
(Another shadow approaches and bends down to the Man's lips. As it rises it takes a definite form. Another voice is heard.)
The Voice
I brought you all the stars and all the moon—
I made you pathways through the realms of space.
The song of morning winds was yours to sing,
The night possessed no song you might not sing,
Also those vast, impenetrable seas,
Which stretch around the world and never end,
And never cease in their continuous flow,
Taught you the song of lonely rippling waves—
Showed you the sunset and the wealth of dawn
Mirrored upon the silent-breasted deep.
I made you pathways through the realms of space.
The song of morning winds was yours to sing,
The night possessed no song you might not sing,
Also those vast, impenetrable seas,
Which stretch around the world and never end,
And never cease in their continuous flow,
Taught you the song of lonely rippling waves—
Showed you the sunset and the wealth of dawn
Mirrored upon the silent-breasted deep.
The Man
The world has many songs less strong than yours,
Which, since they are more clamorous, ove power
The subtler harmony. I might have sung,
I might have given another chord to life,
But discords slew the music. From my soul
Take all the life it owes you—I must die.
(A shadow draws near. Al happens as before. The valley is now filled with the murmuring of a vast multitude.)
Which, since they are more clamorous, ove power
The subtler harmony. I might have sung,
I might have given another chord to life,
But discords slew the music. From my soul
Take all the life it owes you—I must die.
(A shadow draws near. Al happens as before. The valley is now filled with the murmuring of a vast multitude.)
A Voice
The sorrow that I taught him was so deep
He might have gauged and saved the hearts of men.,
He might have gauged and saved the hearts of men.,
Another Voice
He strained to drink from the goblet of the sun.
The wine was vintaged by eternity.
My wings were strong to bear him to its source.
The wine was vintaged by eternity.
My wings were strong to bear him to its source.
Another Voice
Within a charmed and never fathomed sea
Floats a fair island, fashioned in such wise
That Time's sad feet may never sojourn there,
Nor any hope, nor anguish, nor desire,
Only a spiritual and ceaseless life,
Guarded by silence fraught with harmony.
Floats a fair island, fashioned in such wise
That Time's sad feet may never sojourn there,
Nor any hope, nor anguish, nor desire,
Only a spiritual and ceaseless life,
Guarded by silence fraught with harmony.
Another Voice
Time led me through his ancient palaces—
The wonder spread therein might blind the world,
Yet from its very blindness bring forth sight.
The wonder spread therein might blind the world,
Yet from its very blindness bring forth sight.
The Man
I was more lonely than the sudden light
Cast on lone hills by sunset clouds afar—
I was not strong to bend my solitude
To aught save dreams, but these could never soar
Strong through my strength, because my strength was weak,—
And all my weakness has brought forth is death.
(Each dream advances and lays its lips to the Man's lips. It then assumes a tangible shape. The Man is almost dead. One shadow alone stands apart.)
Cast on lone hills by sunset clouds afar—
I was not strong to bend my solitude
To aught save dreams, but these could never soar
Strong through my strength, because my strength was weak,—
And all my weakness has brought forth is death.
(Each dream advances and lays its lips to the Man's lips. It then assumes a tangible shape. The Man is almost dead. One shadow alone stands apart.)
The Man
There is one dream most well beloved of all.
Had I been strong it would have soared above
The highest mountain peak which guards the earth,
Heaven had proved its resting-place and shrine—
I would have yielded every pulsing breath;
I would have left no life within my soul,
Had I been strong of will and mighty of mind.
I fed it with my blood as a little child
Is fed with mother's milk; there was no thought
More purposeful in all my wasted life—
(He pauses.)
A little measure of soul is left to me—
Enough to wander in the eternal woods,
And to gain strength and grow again and live—
But this small portion of my soul belongs
To that most dear, that best-belovéd dream.
Why does it not come for its share of life
(The shadow speaks, standing apart.)
Had I been strong it would have soared above
The highest mountain peak which guards the earth,
Heaven had proved its resting-place and shrine—
I would have yielded every pulsing breath;
I would have left no life within my soul,
Had I been strong of will and mighty of mind.
I fed it with my blood as a little child
Is fed with mother's milk; there was no thought
More purposeful in all my wasted life—
(He pauses.)
A little measure of soul is left to me—
Enough to wander in the eternal woods,
And to gain strength and grow again and live—
But this small portion of my soul belongs
To that most dear, that best-belovéd dream.
Why does it not come for its share of life
(The shadow speaks, standing apart.)
The Shadow
But of your very weakness I was born—
You clave to me, you gave me blood for milk,
Through the long nights and watches of the world
I was your beacon. Since you loved me so,
I dared not claim my little portion of life—
I fade into the darkness of all past things.
Better the dream should perish than the soul.
You clave to me, you gave me blood for milk,
Through the long nights and watches of the world
I was your beacon. Since you loved me so,
I dared not claim my little portion of life—
I fade into the darkness of all past things.
Better the dream should perish than the soul.
The Man
I am too weak to meet eternity.
The stream of utter oblivion bends and whirls,
And claims me with sweet promises of rest.
But thou, most dear, my best-belovéd dream,
Take thou my little soul from off my lips.
This dying sacrifice has made it strong,
And it shall sing upon my lips such things
As I have longed to sing through many a day,
And many a night, and the great world of men
Shall see thee now, no more a formless dream,
But an immortal and incorporate life—
The union of the ideal with the real.
And a great song beyond the realms of Time,
Beyond all death fraught with harmonious strength,
Shall thrill through all the fastnesses of the world.
(The Man, suddenly grown strong, constrains the dream to bend, as the others, and to kiss his Lips. His soul passes from him. The Man is utterly dead. A vast and hollow sigh fills the air. It passes. By degrees the features of the shadow grow tangible. They become the features of the Man. He lives again. The Man has found new life in his dream.)
The stream of utter oblivion bends and whirls,
And claims me with sweet promises of rest.
But thou, most dear, my best-belovéd dream,
Take thou my little soul from off my lips.
This dying sacrifice has made it strong,
And it shall sing upon my lips such things
As I have longed to sing through many a day,
And many a night, and the great world of men
Shall see thee now, no more a formless dream,
But an immortal and incorporate life—
The union of the ideal with the real.
And a great song beyond the realms of Time,
Beyond all death fraught with harmonious strength,
Shall thrill through all the fastnesses of the world.
(The Man, suddenly grown strong, constrains the dream to bend, as the others, and to kiss his Lips. His soul passes from him. The Man is utterly dead. A vast and hollow sigh fills the air. It passes. By degrees the features of the shadow grow tangible. They become the features of the Man. He lives again. The Man has found new life in his dream.)
THE END