Lola Ridge

(December 12, 1873- May 19, 1941 / Dublin)

The Dream


I have a dream
to fill the golden sheath
of a remembered day....
(Air
heavy and massed and blue
as the vapor of opium...
domes
fired in sulphurous mist...
sea
quiescent as a gray seal...
and the emerging sun
spurting up gold
over Sydney, smoke-pale, rising out of the bay....)
But the day is an up-turned cup
and its sun a junk of red iron
guttering in sluggish-green water--
where shall I pour my dream?

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003
Edited: Wednesday, February 08, 2012

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  • Veteran Poet - 4,431 Points Savita Tyagi (3/5/2014 8:15:00 AM)

    Beautiful poem. Love the imagery. Industrial pollution shows its ugliness everywhere. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Passionate Flower (3/14/2012 9:37:00 AM)

    it is all describung the industrial world that we live in and the corupted people by opium
    and how do they were efective in corupting everything even the water which turn green
    and so

    it is admirable
    i like it (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Ricky Barnes (3/5/2012 10:35:00 PM)

    But the day is an up-turned cup and its sun a junk of red iron... - I just adore that line. (Report) Reply

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