HE puts his fingers on our dumb, Cold life and starts to play; The maker of our Dreams has come To bide with us a day. He leads us far away from home And down a rhyming road. He pillows us on fragrant loam Where never man abode. His voice is strong and strangely sweet; It hath a god's control. His heart is like a cool retreat For every weary soul. He takes us with his silent tread To meadow-lands of June, Where pales the dandelion's head To silver of the moon. His distaff is the golden grain, His eyes are blue, like smoke. Upon his shoulders lies the rain Like a well-fitting cloak. You hear the hum of centuries Drone grandly in his talk. The wash of space is in his eyes, And aeons in his walk. The maker of our Dreams is here, To bide with us a day. His steps are like the sounds that cheer When children are at play. He makes the earth a laughing child That knows not right nor wrong; He lifts us up with music wild And lays us down with song. Grim, crooked shapes at his advance Grow godlike in their forms. He bids the foot of Beauty dance Along the rim of storms. He paints a crimson, gypsy stain Upon the hueless mouth. His voice is cool as summer rain Across a month of drouth. The scripture of his lonely tracks Each woodland loves to tell. His laughter drips like molten wax, To seal the lids of Hell. To-night our hearts can laugh at fear, Our souls be pagan gay; For he who makes our Dreams is here, To bide with us a day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 1. SUNRISE IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A FLORIDA GHOST by SIDNEY LANIER COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD TO HELEN KELLER - HUMANITARIAN, SOCIAL DEMOCRAT, GREAT SOUL by EDWIN MARKHAM |