Chaser of dim vast figures in the mist,
Drawn by far cries, an alien to content,
Builder of burning worlds that passed in gloom,
Vain architect of great sky-spaces, filled
With unreal suns uncurtaining the day
That fell again in dismal night — 'Twas I!

A pygmy in all else but daring dreams,
A grasper after monstrous shadow-shapes,
With stars for eyes and mass of cloud for cloak
And dreams for blood and winds of night for voice:
I sought, they fled; and wailing after — I!

And wailing after — I: for somewhere lurked
The form of Beauty that has never been;
A pagan goddess, vast of limb and thigh,
With burning hills for breasts, and for a face
Dim features dazzled with an inward sun;
A form of awful curves, voluptuous slope
Of neck and shoulders downward to the breasts;
Arms warm and languid as the soul of Love
And scintillant as rockets of the dawn!

And at her feet I dreamed to lay my head,
A pygmy worshipper, who could not reach
Unto the ankles mountain-high, where blazed
Circles of jewels like chained satellites,
To touch which with my finger-tips were death!

And I would guess sweet guesses — how her hair
Made sunlight upward where my eyes saw not;
How sweet the thunder of her beating heart
And terrible! I sought and found her not.

Yet everywhere I saw her with my soul:
Saw her in girlhood, strolling with the Spring;
And in the sultry summer sunsets saw
The glory of her searching woman-eyes,
That made me sing the songs that are despair.
And I have watched her hair trail down in flame
The vapor plains and mountains of the west!
Thus loving what was not, the dreamer — I!

And as I reached my eager arms to clasp
The prodigy that fled — you filled them full,
And in my hair I felt your fingers move,
And felt your woman's lips about my face,
And felt your cool cheek on my burning cheek.
So I have lost the wish to dream again.