Ay, workman, make me a dream,
A dream for my love.
Cunningly weave sunlight,
Breezes, and flowers.
Let it be of the cloth of meadows.
And -- good workman --
And let there be a man walking thereon.
by Stanley KunitzI dreamed that I was old: in stale declension
Fallen from my prime, when company Was mine, cat-nimbleness, and
green invention, Before time took my leafy hours away.
My wisdom, ripe with body’s ruin, ...