 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
DREAMS.
Often I sit and spend my hour,
Linking my dreams from heart to brain,
And as the child joins flower to flower,
Then breaks and joins them on again,
Linking my dreams from heart to brain,
And as the child joins flower to flower,
Then breaks and joins them on again,
Casting the bright ones in disgrace,
And weaving pale ones in their stead,
Changing the honors and the place
Of white and scarlet, blue and red;
And weaving pale ones in their stead,
Changing the honors and the place
Of white and scarlet, blue and red;
And finding after all his pains
Of sorting and selecting dyes,
No single chain of all the chains
The fond caprice that satisfies;
Of sorting and selecting dyes,
No single chain of all the chains
The fond caprice that satisfies;
So I from all things bright and brave,
Select what brightest, bravest seems,
And, with the utmost skill I have,
Contrive the fashion of my dreams.
Select what brightest, bravest seems,
And, with the utmost skill I have,
Contrive the fashion of my dreams.
Sometimes ambitious thoughts abound,
And then I draw my pattern bold,
And have my shuttle only wound
With silken threads or threads of gold.
And then I draw my pattern bold,
And have my shuttle only wound
With silken threads or threads of gold.
Sometimes my heart reproaches me,
And mesh from cunning mesh I pull,
And weave in sad humility
With flaxen threads or threads of wool.
And mesh from cunning mesh I pull,
And weave in sad humility
With flaxen threads or threads of wool.
For here the hue too brightly gleams,
And there the grain too dark is cast,
And so no dream of all my dreams
Is ever finished, first, or last.
And there the grain too dark is cast,
And so no dream of all my dreams
Is ever finished, first, or last.
And looking back upon my past
Thronged with so many a wasted hour,
I think that I should fear to cast
My fortunes if I had the power.
Thronged with so many a wasted hour,
I think that I should fear to cast
My fortunes if I had the power.
And think that he is mainly wise,
Who takes what comes of good or ill,
Trusting that wisdom underlies
And worketh in the end—His will.
Who takes what comes of good or ill,
Trusting that wisdom underlies
And worketh in the end—His will.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |