From the Land of Dreams By John Todhunter. With an introduction by T. W. Rolleston |
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AN INVOCATION |
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 | From the Land of Dreams |  |
AN INVOCATION
O Memory, Nurse of Dreams, out of the night
Steal to my hearth, and by the autumn fire
Crouch like a Fairy woman, and fan the turf,
Fan the sweet Irish sods until they glow!
Then lay thine ear close to thy sounding shell,
And listen, till within its winding caves
The words of mystery wake; and to my spirit,
Roaming the shadowy halls of lonely thought,
Where deep it dwells, lamped by a sibylline star,
Come visions of the never dying past.
Steal to my hearth, and by the autumn fire
Crouch like a Fairy woman, and fan the turf,
Fan the sweet Irish sods until they glow!
Then lay thine ear close to thy sounding shell,
And listen, till within its winding caves
The words of mystery wake; and to my spirit,
Roaming the shadowy halls of lonely thought,
Where deep it dwells, lamped by a sibylline star,
Come visions of the never dying past.
A golden youth flames in thy hoary hair
And withered cheek, and all the world grows young
In the soft shining of thy dream-lit eyes.
Thou art the grave Recording Angel, calm
As a bright cloud of dawn, and in thy voice
The eternal deep that lies behind me calls
To the eternal deep that lies before.
And withered cheek, and all the world grows young
In the soft shining of thy dream-lit eyes.
Thou art the grave Recording Angel, calm
As a bright cloud of dawn, and in thy voice
The eternal deep that lies behind me calls
To the eternal deep that lies before.
| From the Land of Dreams | |