THE SICK MAN’S DREAM
And there before me flashed a morning gleam
(It was not like a dream),
A dazzle of light that overflowed the sky
And filled the sea; and I,
A city-toiler fallen in the strife
That I could wage no more,
I seemed the wreck and remnant of a life
The sea had cast ashore.
Oh but to lie upon those sun-kissed sands
With idle, restful hands,
To feel the freshening wind, to hear the sea
Whisper and call to me,
Was as though heaven had dawned on earth at last,
Or I to heaven were brought;
The city here, my life of all the past,
Dwindled to but a thought.
There in the streets, I thought, the dull day long
The busy workers throng,
Whilst I.... The waves broke nearer and more near,
And still I had no fear;
I yearned to feel the cool bright waters sweep
Above me, hushed and high,
For when I gazed I saw in all the deep
Only another sky.
... Then something stirred; or was it you that spoke?
I started, and awoke,
And lo! my hands lay white and wasted yet
On the white coverlet;
And here, about me still, this silent room,
The shaded lamp, the red
Quick fire-flame darting lightnings through the gloom—
And you beside my bed.
As stars at dawn, the dreams that fill the dark
Wane when we waken.... Hark!
Is it the wind among the garden trees,
That voice so like the sea’s?—
Listen!... I have not dreamed. Oh restful bliss!
The great sea calls me now....
These are its winds that cool my lips, and this
Its spray upon my brow.