Man And His Makers
by Muriel Stuart
I am one of the wind's stories,
I am a fancy of the rain,-
A memory of the high noon's glories,
The hint the sunset had of pain.
They dreamed me as they dreamed all other;
Hawthorn and I, I and the grass,
With sister shade and phantom brother
Across their slumber glide and pass.
Twilight is in my blood, my being
Mingles with trees and ferns and stones;
Thunder and stars my lips are freeing,
And there is sea-rack in my bones.
Those that have dreamed me shall out-wake me,
But I go hence with flowers and weeds;
I am no more to those who make me
Than other drifting fruit and seeds.
And though I love them -mourn to leave them-
Sea, earth and sunset, stars and streams,
My tears, my passing do not grieve them . . .
Other dreams have they, other dreams.