A Sphinx

What are your thoughts, wild Dreamer from of old? Who shall foreknow thy dark and devious way? What hand dare limn in colours grey or gold The close-furled puzzle of thine unborn day? As in its first chill early glimmering morn Some simple prophet cons the coming year, Tells all its warm days, measures tear by tear Its rainfall--and is laughed by it to scorn!-- So we by you, oh green and sea-worn sphinx, Loved so profoundly, named of many names, Heart-breaking goal of he that loves, that thinks, Founded on treasons, sorrows, glories, shames!