LANDSCAPES SEEN IN DREAMS 



with narcotic and effortless motion, until 

 they with the rocks and all the scene fade. 



A tiny stream, a pixy's river, slips from 

 beneath a bowlder in a wood long known, 

 and leads through thicket, glade, and clear- 

 ing to a terrifying land, desolated by an- 

 cient fires and strewn with blackened 

 stones and charred boughs. The place 

 itself is athirst, and the dreamer kneels to 

 drink. The tiny stream is dark, like a deep 

 water, and bitter cold as if it flowed 

 through ice. A staff thrust down cannot 

 sound its depths. A finger's span across 

 and bottomless! Nothing could dam its 

 flow. Old embers at its borders are sud- 

 denly scattered when a gleaming hand 

 parts the current and waves back toward 

 the way just traced, but the flame-blasted 

 firs have closed behind into a forbidding 

 wall. Other pallid fingers rise from the 

 portal of the abyss in warning gesture, but 

 the narrow gulf opens underfoot. 



There is a town where gay people in 

 white dress promenade in a plaza shaded 

 by orange trees, and they are always hum- 

 ming tunes. Little white streets lead to 

 shuttered houses. A glory of buginvillsea 

 overflows trellis and bower in splendid war 

 [75] 



