OLD

I HAVE opened the window to warm my hands on the
    sill
Where the sunlight soaks in the stone: the afternoon
Is full of dreams, my love, the boys are all still
In a wistful dream of Lorna Doone.

The clink of the shunting engines is sharp and fine,
Like savage music striking far off, and there
On the great, uplifted blue palace, lights stir and
   shine
Where the glass is domed in the blue, soft air.

There lies the world, my darling, full of wonder and
    wistfulness and strange
Recognition and greetings of half-acquaint things, as
    I greet the cloud
Of blue palace aloft there, among misty indefinite
    dreams that range
At the back of my life’s horizon, where the dreamings
    of past lives crowd.

Over the nearness of Norwood Hill, through the
    mellow veil
Of the afternoon glows to me the old romance of
    David and Dora,
With the old, sweet, soothing tears, and laughter
    that shakes the sail
Of the ship of the soul over seas where dreamed
    dreams lure the unoceaned explorer.

All the bygone, hushèd years
Streaming back where the mist distils
Into forgetfulness: soft-sailing waters where fears
No longer shake, where the silk sail fills
With an unfelt breeze that ebbs over the seas, where
    the storm
Of living has passed, on and on
Through the coloured iridescence that swims in the
    warm
Wake of the tumult now spent and gone,
Drifts my boat, wistfully lapsing after
The mists of vanishing tears and the echo of laughter.