WeRead Powered by ReaderPub
Dream-Songs for the Belovèd cover

Dream-Songs for the Belovèd

Chapter 14: REVOLT
Open in WeRead

Explore more books like this:

About This Book

An intimate collection of lyrical poems that weave dreamlike imagery, devotional longing, and quiet philosophical reflection. The speaker addresses a beloved presence and considers love as both gift and transformative occupation, often finding silence and music in place of conventional expression. Imagery moves between night, pastoral meadows, classical myth, and fogbound streets to explore memory, beauty, loss, and the creative impulse. Forms vary from short lyrics and sonnet-like pieces to longer idylls and mythic narratives, shifting voice between intimate address and contemplative reportage. The overall mood balances tenderness and austerity, repeatedly returning to themes of spiritual vision and the limits of language.

REVOLT

I will go riding, riding! away from the cities of men!
Into the heart of freedom I will hurl myself with the free!
I will race on the sun-swept mountains, I will dive through the rock-hewn glen,
I will cleave between hills billowing green like the surge of the sea!
(Never shalt thou go riding! but live as man says man must,
Or if thou flee to the open thou shalt find thy spirit to fail,
And shrink as thou treadest the levels where the path has been beaten in dust
From the glory that thrills the heaven-high hills, and the dark of the vale.)
I will go sailing, sailing! on waters that leave no track,
I will follow the path of the sunglow to the ultimate line of light,
I will plunge where the ocean-giants upcurl their hollows of black,
I will take the way of the wind-blown spray in the dread of the night!
(Never shalt thou go sailing! but still in the cities of men
Thou shalt spin thy thread of existence in a pattern not thine own,
Or lost on the desolate waters thy heart shall sicken again,
For what man bears his burden who dares be adrift and alone?)
I will go flying, flying! and scale the steeps of the air
To play with lightning and gather a cloud from the molten noon,
I will find the source of the streams of the sun to lave my feet and my hair,
And stoop to drink at the brimming brink of the wells of the moon!
(Never shalt thou go flying! but stay in thy agelong bond
And stifle the starting pinions that scorn the way of the feet,
Or if thy wild young folly still dreams to compass what lies beyond
When thou clasp a cloud thou shalt find it thy shroud and thy winding-sheet.)