The prescience of dreams struck walls away From mortal fact, and mortal fact revealed, With myriad voices, potencies concealed In the dim birth-place of a coming day.
Even as a blind man’s fingers wander o’er His harpstrings, led by sound to dreams of sound, Till in his soul an eloquence profound Rises above the petulance and roar
Of the great globe: as in a rush of song From feathered throats, one, in a mighty wood, ‘Mid sweet interpositions moves along
The avenues of some predestined good; So I, dream-nurtured, standing by the sea, Made levy on the wonders that should be.