48
DREAM GARDENS
And the scattered buds of a wind-torn tree, Bauhinia, bright as butterfly. Till a page will turn in a sunlit skyAnd I read the blossoms that used to be.
In the crumbling clay, when the light has gone, I shall build me towers where the tall palm stands; I shall fill with myrtles my hungry handsFrom the hanging gardens of Babylon.
In wandering ocean, in earth-ditch deep I shall see green grass and the poppies blow. I may fail of Heaven; but this I know,God will plant gardens through all my sleep!
