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XVI. THE WINDOW
The house was old, with tangled wings outthrown,Of which no one could ever half keep track,And in a small room somewhat near the backWas an odd window sealed with ancient stone.There, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite aloneI used to go, where night reigned vague and black;Parting the cobwebs with a curious lackOf fear, and with a wonder each time grown.
One later day I brought the masons thereTo find what view my dim forebears had shunned,But as they pierced the stone, a rush of airBurst from the alien voids that yawned beyond.They fled—but I peered through and found unrolledAll the wild worlds of which my dreams had told.
XVII. A MEMORY
There were great steppes, and rocky table-landsStretching half limitless in starlit night,With alien campfires shedding feeble lightOn beasts with tinkling bells, in shaggy bands.Far to the south the plain sloped low and wideTo a dark zigzag line of wall that layLike a huge python of some primal dayWhich endless time had chilled and petrified.
I shivered oddly in the cold, thin air,And wondered where I was and how I came;When a cloaked form against a campfire's glareRose and approached, and called me by my name.Staring at that dead face beneath the hood,I ceased to hope—because I understood.
XVIII. THE GARDENS OF YIN
Beyond that wall, whose ancient masonryReached almost to the sky in moss-thick towers,There would be terraced gardens, rich with flowers,And flutter of bird and butterfly and bee.There would be walks, and bridges arching overWarm lotus-pools reflecting temple eaves,And cherry-trees with delicate boughs and leavesAgainst a pink sky where the herons hover.
All would be there, for had not old dreams flungOpen the gate to that stone-lanterned mazeWhere drowsy streams spin out their winding ways,Trailed by green vines from bending branches hung?I hurried—but when the wall rose, grim and great,I found there was no longer any gate.
