My dreams I buy and buy but never sell.
Some light and dusty with a splendid grind,
Like gold dust that the eager miners find,
My dreams inspire, devastate, compel.
Some cost the ringing of a lone church bell,
Some take a thousand years when stars aligned
Within their places, show what lies behind:
The sable, infinite sidereal.
I walk at dusk where ruined abbeys sit
On hills so desolate and drear, alone,
Where long and lancing silver shadows fall,
Where dying leaves are blown, where spiders knit
Their silver webs across the silver stone,
And watch the autumn leaves blow down the mall.