‘We are become like phantoms of the night
Thro’ the heart’s pity and the heart’s delight.
For we have wandered with the wasting streams
Across the flower-stained solitude of dreams,
The blossom-scattered waterways of dreams.
For we have crossed the lotus-covered lake,
Where only the sunk places do shake
Beneath the waters, and the serpents make
A beauteous shining for their passion’s sake.
Behold, we are like spectres of the night
For the soul’s longing and the soul’s delight.
Who for dream’s pleasure and for love’s relief
Have drugged dull Time, the heavy footed thief
Of old sorrows and the old belief.
For we are taught the sea’s iniquities,
And see, like fearful-thoughted reveries
Sunk vessels by the borders of lost quays.
And pale and dreadful hills below the seas.
Behold, we are the dreams of vanished nights
For love’s old anguish and new love’s delights.
We are become like lost men on the moon,
Strangers on plains of everlasting noon,
Dread wanderers on the mountains of the moon
Thus have we seen the moons’ dark fortresses
Grown over with moon-moss, where the tree
Hung with old dews and woeful radiances
Stand like the ghosts of stunted fantasies.
we are dumb phantoms of the hollow night
Thro’ the soul’s pity and the soul’s delight.’
Dreamers, by Dorothy Wellesely is taken from Early Poems by Dorothy Wellesely . I accessed the .pdf of her publication, digitised by The Library of the University of California, Los Angeles via Kobo e-books. Naturally enough I have added them to my reader alongside the Yeats and Essays.
Those readers interested in Wellesely can find out more about the writer at the Orlando Project , which is a subscribed service. One of Wellesely’s editors was Kathleen Raine, whose poem, Winter Fire is linked on this blog. Raine also prefaced an edition of A Vision, by W.B Yeats, who is much on my mind given the vandalism that occurs at Knocknarea Mountain in Sligo.