The Harlequin of Dreams
Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found,Dim-panelled in the painted scene of Sleep,Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams, dost leapUpon my spirit’s stage. Then Sight and Sound,Then Space and Time, then Language, Mete and Bound,And all familiar Forms that firmly keepMan’s reason in the road, change faces, peepBetwixt the legs and mock the daily round.Yet thou canst more than mock: sometimes my tearsAt midnight break through bounden lids—a signThou hast a heart: and oft thy little leavenOf dream-taught wisdom works me bettered years.In one night witch, saint, trickster, fool divine,I think thou’rt Jester at the Court of Heaven!
Baltimore, 1878.