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Dream

Kathleen Raine, Dream ' I am becoming a stranger to my dreams, Their places unknown, A bridge there was Over the lovely waters of the Tyne, my mother Was with me, we were almost there, It seemed, but in that almost opened up a valley extending and expanding, wind-sculptured sand; Dry its paths, a beautiful waterless waste Without one green leaf, sand-coloured behind closed eyes. That film shifts, but the arid place remains When day returns Yet we were still going towards the Tyne, That green river-side where childhood's flowers were growing still, my mother and I, she dead, With me forever in that dream'

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