V. 2. / 113.) From My Garden, A Glimpse . . .

From my garden, a glimpse of the river beyond

And from the open door in my grey stone wall

The trickling stream of my dream that flows

Down to join it, weaving its willing way towards

The joy, in what it knows it will find there – and

All seen by the flickering light of the bright cresset

Behind me, burning above on my waiting walls

Throwing out my shadows all dancing before me

To join with the stream, in my dreams of the finding

Of the end of them, in the river, and the beginnings

Of the see-through-life they had foreshadowed, for

Where I wasn’t I was free, where was no substance

All was gone, and where all was gone all was his.

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