Like Gold Dust on the sea
Or darkling voices in the rain
The pulse of a dream
Echoes its rhythmic refrain
In the morning hour.
And every wildwood,
Every scattered spirit-bloom
Whose voice was silent,
Hum with leaves in untrodden ways.
And lyrics from shadows
Who seldom shine
Unwrap the distance from sober grays
And write in pools of lucent gloom
The response to the night’s yielding strain:
An immortal dream glimmering
Like a mirrored eternity of sky
In the spirit-hollows
Of your slowly waking mind.
Can you hear the whispers
of childhood dreams and days?
Remembering those threadbare thrills
And the hopes of yesterdays?
When the winter is around you
And it clutches upon your heart
Find comfort in those sweet old ways,
Like a pilgrim to dreamers’ trysting-place.
Where your soul can dance beyond the harbor bar
To where the untroubled, shining waters are
And you can, in resurrection’s bashful glory,
Start again on your life’s untold story.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing that can take you away from yourself, unless you willingly offer it up. But even then, even then, a small part of you always remain safely hidden in your inner most being, ready to be rekindled when you get your spark back.