Dream of the Garden-Wood Path

This poem was written to describe a dream that I had a couple of years ago, in which I envisioned such a place as it attempts to describe; the picture was so beautiful in my mind, that I had to write about it as best I could.. though, I surely do not claim that it matches the reaches of the raw imagination. The dream was so vivid, and I got a distinct feeling of ethereal mystery, tainted by a hint of despair, as the vision progressed from the single straight, stone and wooden-planked walkway in the misty garden, out onto the jagged corners of the multitude of rickety piers, supported by rotted old stilts (cantilevers) jutting up out of a rocky cliffside, each ending abruptly, with no destination. A small stream flowed under the path in the garden, and out over the cliffside, spewing waterfalls over the rocks, and into a deep ravine below. It bears some layers of symbolism below the complex imagery on the surface, but I would rather not spoil the chance for you to glean your own interpretation by imposing my own. The final verses infer a bit of my own idealism with regard to dreams and romantic fascinations, and how they (do or do not) integrate into the minds and hearts of those who seek and embrace their charm and meaning. One other thing to note is that, at the time I wrote this, I was experimenting with an open-stanzaic form, whereby some of the stanzas do not include punctuation between one another, so that each is meant to be read as a complete unit of thought, while yet connecting with its surrounding stanzas, adding a second layer of continuity among the progressing text, in order to create a sort of double-meaning, one generated according to the image and feeling of each thought-group, and the other by the poem as a whole; when viewed in this frame, this dual-lensed perspective should give the reader a somewhat confounding sense of alternating perception as the lines flow onward, leaving an impression of uncertainty, and possibly uneasiness, which reflects the unfamiliarity felt amid the strange, mystical setting that the poem depicts. More than anything, I just enjoy the mood it creates, and the images it conveys; I hope whatever your mind conjures upon its reading is as marvelous to you as what I beheld in my sleep! Thanks!

The paths of wood and stone

What through the misty gardens thread,

'Pon which the heart athrill doth tread,

Dispel to depths unknown

 

Swift flowing streams unseen beneath

The ivied havens white,

Which crown with pale unpiercéd wreath

Their gliding courses light

 

Undimmed about the shady wood

What shrouds the garden green,

Which creeping 'round the olden rood

Doth clothe the earth serene;

 

The ashen glade doth unbeguiled

Thus cloak its charmed bijoux:

The blackthorn in the thicket wild,

The chrysoberyl yew;

 

Thenceforth, the tangled verdure 'twixt,

The sylph and nixie weave

Oldfangled rhyme, the weald infixed,

Of erstwhile wonders lieve.

 

And down upon the stony falls,

Where shadows veil the dewy spray

Of spindrift cast 'cross splintered walls,

The cantilevers stretch away –

 

From sheer abyssal gulfs they spring

Cascading down the yawning cleft,

Jagged-gnarled, meandering

Through hollow murk of hope bereft.

 

There, beyond the verdant leaves –

The morn supernal-sheltering womb

Of vernal garlands' gilded sheaves –

The muses wilt like waning brume:

 

At last, those visions captivating,

As daybreak's fateful dying gleam,

Endow their wonder ever-fading

Unto only they that dream.