(“Behold, this dreamer cometh”)
They stript me bare and left me by the way
To pine forsaken in a lonely land;
They gave me to night-frosts and burning day
To griefs none understand.
They took my silver from me and my gold,
The changing splendors of my rich array;
Night’s silver rain of dew escaped their hold,
And the fine gold of day.
On the world’s highway in vain pomp they tread;
By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;
They took all else and left me there for dead;
They could not take my dreams.
Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;
Still in soft rose descends the eventide;
Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,
The sweet, swift thoughts abide.
Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!
To this last fortress of the soul I cling;
Men gave me winter weather from a child,
But God has given me spring. (Text.)
--ROBIN FLOWER, _The London Spectator_.
(821)
See FULFILMENT DISAPPOINTING; IDEALS.