They call me mad -- a luckless dreamer -- I, Who hear strange noises round me everywhere And see mysterious things in earth and sky. Shall I berate men's murmurings? Forswear The truth? No, I would wish that it were mine To see and hear what never eye or ear Has seen or heard. My soul in close confine, Imprisoned, strains at its leash for wider sphere To gain those peerless, matchless heights, even though The flight dips down through marshland, bog or fen Where dryads moan as if in dread of slow But certain doom. Just yesterday, and when In restless mood, I fled to woods and fields, I heard a low faint wailing. "Ah," I thought, "A little child." And in the sky, bright shields And swords and armored knights held me distraught With wondering. It was clear noon. I saw A huge white ship with sails unfurled. A man (A passerby) saw clouds, the sun, and straw That winds had carried high in air. I scan The words, "A fantasy . . . a foolish thing," Yet I -- I shall grow old remembering. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 34 by JAMES JOYCE CHAMBER THICKET by SHARON OLDS ODE TO THE BROWN PAPER BAG by JAMES GALVIN JOY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |