Gray And Green

Gray and green the morning came,
gray and green the woods and vales,
and black the copse without a name
amidst misty meadow trails.

The dreams of night’s restful sleep
linger as figures half-dreamt
in fog amassed like flocks of sheep,
sky and earth a fleece half-kempt.

Who is that among the fog?
Who is that wandering, lost?
The soundless field is as a bog
which all sleepwalkers must cross.

Had I such a sluggish gait
when I woke this early morn?
I see a figure halt and wait
as if unsure—as if torn.

Rousing, drowsing, in between,
he waits but a moment more,
then shuffles forth, beyond the scene
of gray and green, as before.

Gray and green, the earth and sky,
gray and green the morning come,
I witness with half-curtained eye
this somnambulist’s kingdom.

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