The Dream by Theodore Roethke
The Dream by Theodore Roethke stories

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I met her as a blossom on a stem Before she ever breathed, and in that dream
Source: steppen-wolf

The Dream by Theodore Roethke

by steppen-wolf

I met her as a blossom on a stem

Before she ever breathed, and in that dream

The mind remembers from a deeper sleep:

Eye learned from eye, cold lip from sensual lip.

My dream divided on a point of fire;

Light hardened on the water where we were;

A bird sang low; the moonlight sifted in;

The water rippled, and she rippled on.

She came toward me in the flowing air,

A shape of change, encircled by its fire.

I watched her there, between me and the moon;

The bushes and stones danced on and on;

I touched her shadow when the light delayed;

I turned my face away, and yet she stayed.

A bird sang from the center of a tree;

She loved the wind because the wind loved me.

Love is not love until love's vulnerable.

She slowed to sigh, in that long interval.

A small bird flew in circles where she stood;

The deer came down out of the dappled wood.

All who remember, doubt. Who calls that strange?

I tossed a stone and listened to its plunge.

She knew the grammar of least motion,

She taught me one virtue, and I live thereby.

She held her body steady in the wind;

Our shadows met, and slowly swung around;

She turned the field into a glittering sea;

I played in flame and water like a boy

And I swayed out beyond the white seafoam;

Like a wet log, I sang within a flame.

In that last while, eternity's confine,

I came to love, I came into my own.

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