Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/348

 348

And enter the transparent door

And cross the grooved and shining floor

Of a new house I'm building, sir,

Of foam and wind on lake-water,

With walls intangible about

The inner rooms, to keep war out!

But this is nonsense. I have lost

My whim. Your laugh recalled has cost

So many Spanish castles, dear!

And I confess there's no tree here

Heaven-tall, with hills upon its boughs,

No sheltering sunlight-raftered house,

But only water wide and bare,

And distant shore and empty air,

And far away across the world

A proud enduring flag unfurled.

Yet you and I could never live

But for the respite that dreams give.

Your letters have their intervals,

Their hints of magic: a bird calls

Or a strange cloud goes by. You hear

Music unknown to mortal ear,

And as you said in other days,

"Last night I dreamed" your message says.

So in the end, I scorn your laughter,

Lord of my secret thoughts! And after

War will come peace, you'll not deny,

And wider light for dreaming by.

Now, let's pretend as children do:

It is my way of reaching you.

Blue Vermont hills we'll say, are fruit

Which I may pluck, when it shall suit

My mood, and send like grapes to you,

All honey-rich and webbed with dew,

Packed in their cloudy leaves and cool

Of colour like a twilight pool.

And if you've wandered past the sky

On some new errand, comrade, I