My Golden Fleece
When but a child my eyes would oft forsake
The blurring page, and through the window seek
Like an escaping bird, the wonderland
Of dreams, till my instructor, grave, enquired
“Wool gathering again?” So mid the halls
Of classic learning out into the world
Of bruise and bitterness but softening all
As summer haze dissolves the jagged peaks
And makes the deserts bloom - my fancy blithe,
Drinking the waters of eternal youth,
Has ventured many a lordly enterprise
Wool gathering down the years.
Now older grown
Calm in the tranqil gloaming of my life
I dwell apart, the while my mellow lamp
With tapestry of shadow drapes the wall
And e’en the crickets shrilling greets my ear
Like pipes of Arcady. There friends long gone
Cluster about with gladsomeness, and scenes
From recollection gleaned or fancy limned
Expand my chamber to horizons vast
Till pensively I muse “Wool gathering still?”
Bless all kind fairies of fond Memory’s brood,
Or those which grace Imaginations court,
For treasures such as these. Jason of old,
Who led his argonauts through seas of blood
Seeking the golden fleece, has set the course
For dreamers through all ages yet to come.
O Hero legended, thine be the goal
My yearning eyes would glimpse. What cloudland slopes
Feed those immortal sheep whose fleeces bright
Are woven into dreams are ever hid
Beyond my ken. But the great quest is mine
To glorify the drabness of the years
Life’s sterile day by day.
One need not gain
The fabled hoard that marks the rainbow’s end
To feel, beholding that resplendent arch
A link with faery land. Wool gathering - yes
But rather say the guerdon wisdom brings,
The magic touch that gilds the commonplace
With beauty and delight, the lustrous threads
In life’s rough fabric drawn from fleece of gold.