I have a dream <br />to fill the golden sheath <br />of a remembered day.... <br />(Air <br />heavy and massed and blue <br />as the vapor of opium... <br />domes <br />fired in sulphurous mist... <br />sea <br />quiescent as a gray seal... <br />and the emerging sun <br />spurting up gold <br />over Sydney, smoke-pale, rising out of the bay....) <br />But the day is an up-turned cup <br />and its sun a junk of red iron <br />guttering in sluggish-green water-- <br />where shall I pour my dream?<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dream-9/
