Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/142
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
There may be voices I have known,
Cool fingers that have touched my hair.
There may be hearts that were my own,—
Love may abide forever there.
Cool fingers that have touched my hair.
There may be hearts that were my own,—
Love may abide forever there.
Who knows? Who needs to understand
If there be shadows there, or more,
To live as though a pleasant land
Lay just beyond an open door?
If there be shadows there, or more,
To live as though a pleasant land
Lay just beyond an open door?
The OutlookHarold Trowbridge Pulsifer
THE DREAM
I have a dream
To fill the golden sheath
of a remembered day.
To fill the golden sheath
of a remembered day.
Air
Heavy and massed and blue
as the vapor of opium . . .
Domes
Fired in sulphurous mist . . .
Sea
Quiescent as a gray seal,
And the emerging sun
Spurting up gold
over Sydney smoke-pale,
rising out of the bay.
Heavy and massed and blue
as the vapor of opium . . .
Domes
Fired in sulphurous mist . . .
Sea
Quiescent as a gray seal,
And the emerging sun
Spurting up gold
over Sydney smoke-pale,
rising out of the bay.
But the day is an upturned cup,
And its sun a junk of red iron
Guttering in sluggish-green water.
Where shall I pour my dream?
And its sun a junk of red iron
Guttering in sluggish-green water.
Where shall I pour my dream?
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLola Ridge
127