Classic Poem

Chaser of dim vast figures in the mist,
Drawn by far cries, an alien to content,
Builder of burning worlds that passed in gloom,
Vain architect of great sky-spaces, filled
With unreal suns uncurtaining the day
That fell again in dismal night — 'Twas I!

A pygmy in all else but daring dreams,
A grasper after monstrous shadow-shapes,
With stars for eyes and mass of cloud for cloak
And dreams for blood and winds of night for voice:
I sought, they fled; and wailing after — I!

And wailing after — I: for somewhere lurked
The form of Beauty that has never been;
A pagan goddess, vast of limb and thigh,
With burning hills for breasts, and for a face
Dim features dazzled with an inward sun;
A form of awful curves, voluptuous slope
Of neck and shoulders downward to the breasts;
Arms warm and languid as the soul of Love
And scintillant as rockets of the dawn!

And at her feet I dreamed to lay my head,
A pygmy worshipper, who could not reach
Unto the ankles mountain-high, where blazed
Circles of jewels like chained satellites,
To touch which with my finger-tips were death!

And I would guess sweet guesses — how her hair
Made sunlight upward where my eyes saw not;
How sweet the thunder of her beating heart
And terrible! I sought and found her not.

Yet everywhere I saw her with my soul:
Saw her in girlhood, strolling with the Spring;
And in the sultry summer sunsets saw
The glory of her searching woman-eyes,
That made me sing the songs that are despair.
And I have watched her hair trail down in flame
The vapor plains and mountains of the west!
Thus loving what was not, the dreamer — I!

And as I reached my eager arms to clasp
The prodigy that fled — you filled them full,
And in my hair I felt your fingers move,
And felt your woman's lips about my face,
And felt your cool cheek on my burning cheek.
So I have lost the wish to dream again.