II

I know this room,and there are corridors:the pictures, I have seen before;the statues and those gems in casesI have wandered by before,—stood there silent and lonelyin a dream of years ago.I know the dark of night is all around me;my eyes are closed, and I am half asleep.My wife breathes gently at my side.But once again this old dream is within me,and I am on the threshold waiting,wondering, pleased, and fearful.Where do those doors lead,what rooms lie beyond them?I venture. . . .But my baby moves and tossesfrom side to side,and her need calls me to her.Now I stand awake, unseeing,in the dark,and I move towards her cot. . . .I shall not reach her . . . There is no direction. . . .I shall walk on. . . .F. S. Flint

I know this room,and there are corridors:the pictures, I have seen before;the statues and those gems in casesI have wandered by before,—stood there silent and lonelyin a dream of years ago.

I know this room,

and there are corridors:

the pictures, I have seen before;

the statues and those gems in cases

I have wandered by before,—

stood there silent and lonely

in a dream of years ago.

I know the dark of night is all around me;my eyes are closed, and I am half asleep.My wife breathes gently at my side.

I know the dark of night is all around me;

my eyes are closed, and I am half asleep.

My wife breathes gently at my side.

But once again this old dream is within me,and I am on the threshold waiting,wondering, pleased, and fearful.Where do those doors lead,what rooms lie beyond them?I venture. . . .

But once again this old dream is within me,

and I am on the threshold waiting,

wondering, pleased, and fearful.

Where do those doors lead,

what rooms lie beyond them?

I venture. . . .

But my baby moves and tossesfrom side to side,and her need calls me to her.

But my baby moves and tosses

from side to side,

and her need calls me to her.

Now I stand awake, unseeing,in the dark,and I move towards her cot. . . .I shall not reach her . . . There is no direction. . . .I shall walk on. . . .

Now I stand awake, unseeing,

in the dark,

and I move towards her cot. . . .

I shall not reach her . . . There is no direction. . . .

I shall walk on. . . .

F. S. Flint

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