Ballade of Dreams [poem by Marie E. J. Pitt]

[Editor: This poem by Marie E. J. Pitt was published in The Horses of the Hills and Other Verses (1911).]

Ballade of Dreams.

Across the loom the shuttles fly,
Like random, rippled lights at play
Upon the road where you, where I,
Drift down the Valley of To-day;
White snowdrop stars beside the way
Illume the flight of fancies fled,
In some far Spring-time’s snowdrop spray
Our dreams shall live when we are dead.

We quibble over how and why,
Or vex our souls with “yea” and “nay;”
Turn all the golden years awry,
And bid the wheel of pleasure stay;
And still our webs of hodden grey
Are shot with many a wizard thread
That passes not with passing clay —
Our dreams shall live when we are dead.

The proud, the strong, the brave shall die,
All flesh shall perish e’en as they;
Nor love, nor life, nor duty’s tie
Shall hold the fateful hour at bay:
But past restraining barriers, yea,
On universal pinions spread,
A phoenix phalanx o’er decay,
Our dreams shall live when we are dead.

With cypress gather blooms o’ may,
Beyond the dark the dawn is red;
Peace! sad one, tho’ the gods shall slay,
Our dreams shall live when we are dead.



Source:
Marie E. J. Pitt, The Horses of the Hills and Other Verses, Melbourne: Specialty Press, 1911, pages 38-39

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