If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme,

Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt?

High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes;

All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true.

Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me;

Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you?

WORDS

Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule

The world? What is it but the tongue

That doth proclaim a man a fool,

So that his best songs go unsung,

So that his dreams are sent to school

And all die young.

There pass the trav’lling dreams, and these

My soul adores—my words condemn—

Oh, I would fall upon my knees

To kiss their golden garments’ hem,

Yet words do lie in wait to seize

And murder them.

To-night the swinging stars shall plumb

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