[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 41]

Suspense

6/9/1911

I dream, and strange, dim powers 

     Good are round,[1] assist,

A sand as of coming showers

     Creeps towards me, land and[2] fist

And lo! All my forgotten hours

     Lie round me like[3] a mist 

_______

The ghost of my dead solves

     Weave round me a false flesh

My undreamed dreams, pale elves,

     Are now parting my flesh

And all I am my dreamed-part[4] shelves

     In[5] dreams, out of my reach

_______

I touch unpalpable things

     I am sunny with past days,

Remote sands like near wings

     Flank my blind spirit’s ways.

And from the thin side

     Of the near[6] will seize

A bell that rumour to promise.

[41v]

But I am sick of dreaming

     Weary of being the same

Over desert spaces of seeing…

     Smiling plages of the same

Of[7] life… Unfound star gleaming

On spaces[8] yet without name.

Lost[9] star but gleaming

To worlds not upon name[10]

 
[1] Good are round, /My shining sleep\
[2] and /by\
[3] like /as\
[4] dreamed-part /unselfing\
[5] In /On\
[6] near /his\
[7] Of /With\
[8] On spaces /In a space\
[9] Lost /From\
[10] To worlds not upon name /On dead earths without name\