True to a Dream

Donald Petersen

And the curtains, the lamp,
The rose-papered wall,
The familiar cramp
Of books in the rack,
Would fade; he would fall
Through a slumbrous abyss
To a great zodiac
Where Lions hiss,
Where the master swings
A nine-tailed whip
Or the bluebird sings
In a private arbor
Or a wonderful ship
Has the sky for a harbor

And when it was past
All that he saw
Was darkness and vast
Confusions of vapor,
And rubbed his eyes raw,
And when he awoke,
The book-laden shelf
And the old rose-paper
Appeared the same
And he fancied himself
Cut off at stroke,
In a trice undone,
For as quick as it came
The show passed on.

And the persons he met,
Were brave but sad.
One paused by the bed
But could not talk.
Another one had
A limp in his walk,
There was a lone
Boy on a crutch
An heir to a throne
Was locked out of touch.
And the princess was pining
As princesses must
And everything shining
Began to rust.

And hour after hour,
Yet always true,
To the one highest tower
The boy withdrew
And true to a dream
That opens and closes
He ruled supreme,
Suppressing the roses,
That mounted the wall,
Until in a bold,
Deliberate choice
He relinquished his hold
At the faraway call
Of a downstairs voice.