Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/142

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There may be voices I have known,Cool fingers that have touched my hair.There may be hearts that were my own,—Love may abide forever there.
Who knows? Who needs to understandIf there be shadows there, or more,To live as though a pleasant landLay just beyond an open door?
The OutlookHarold Trowbridge Pulsifer


THE DREAM
I have a dreamTo fill the golden sheath     of a remembered day.
AirHeavy and massed and blue     as the vapor of opium . . .DomesFired in sulphurous mist . . .SeaQuiescent as a gray seal,And the emerging sunSpurting up gold     over Sydney smoke-pale,     rising out of the bay.
But the day is an upturned cup,And its sun a junk of red ironGuttering in sluggish-green water.Where shall I pour my dream?
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLola Ridge

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