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POEMS.
"Comrades, your dreams have many shapes,"
Said one who, thoughtful, sat apart:
"But I six nights have dreamed of grapes,
One dream which fills my heart.

"A woman meets me, crowned with vine;
Great purple clusters fill her hands;
Her eyes divinely smile and shine,
As beckoning she stands.

"I follow her a single pace;
She vanishes, like light or sound,
And leaves me in a vine-walled place,
Where grapes pile all the ground."

The comrades laughed: "We know thee by
This fevered, drunken dream of thine."
"Ha, ha," cried he, "never have I
So much as tasted wine!

"Now, follow ye your luring shapes
Of gold that clinks and gold that shines;
I shall await my maid of grapes,
And plant her trees and vines."

All through the hills the gold sand burned;
All through the lands ran yellow streams;
To right, to left, the seekers turned,
Led by the golden gleams.

The ruddy hills were gulfed and strained;
The rocky fields were torn and trenched;
The yellow streams were drained and drained,
Until their sources quenched.