Our Lady of Many Dreams

(new style)

Trees to the very water's edge— 
  Pond lilies white and full.
Bulrush & quaking grass and sedge
Where the moor hen clucks, does this seem to you 
  Anything more than an hour or two
      Of hot, uneasy pull—?

A waste of mud where the sea scum floats 
  Forgotten of the tide,
Gully and gut, and stranded boats 
Stretched like carcasses—What do you see
  Just the mud & eternity
      And nothing else beside

The wind-in the bents the hiss of the sand 
  Driven along the shore
The sweep of flat alluvial land
In a dozen lines of brown & gray.
How does it strike you—What do you say 
  Landscape and nothing more?

A sloping street with a railway arch 
      Spanning the end of it
A grey-stone chapel-prim and starch 
  Set in its own half acre of green
Railed like a jail and below-half seen 
  Red blurs from the lamps just lit

The stillness of dawn-the broad red glow 
      Breaking behind the pines
The mist in the valley and far below
  A white smoke puff as the first train flies 
Into the open, where serpentwise
      The river curves and shines

Gravel foundation pits half done 
      Gaping and deep and dry 
Unfinished  houses-one  by one
  Standing guard over open cellars 
To catch unwary inebriate dwellers
  In the thick packed houses by.

A voice in the street, some sound unheeded 
      By others, a woman's gait
(But that no two women could walk as she did} 
And you drift thro' the past on a broken ship
  Derelict ten years-Give me the slip 
      While I stand on the shore & wait—