A Dream

From A Leaf on an Apple Tree, 1955.

I don’t really think it’s a particularly useful exercise to say if I love a poem or not, though I do it all the time. A reader either loves a poem on their own or learns to love it because someone more important than me said they should.

Here’s the dove after the flood.¹

A Dream

A dove knocks hard on the window
Holding a green branch in its mouth.

I stare in great surprise:
Around— no flood,
My room— no ark,
Nevertheless, look —
A dove knocks hard on the window
Holding a green branch in its mouth.

I open the window,
I stretch out both my hands,
And the dove allows itself to trust.
It nestles-in its beak
And watches with two bright eyes
As I take the branch with my fingers.

Suddenly, see —
A heavenly arc
Of seven dazzling colours.
A sign— there was a flood,
My room an ark;
And now the news is brought to me
That I may finally leave the ark
To look upon God’s world again.

I hold the gift— the branch,
And suddenly the dove rises and sinks
In weariness, in collapse of its wings,
A froth flowing from its beak 
Seething in whiteness, and — a wonder:
Still more brightly, thankfully, 
Its warm eyes look upon me
As I hold the branch in my fingers.

British Library, 13th Century.

1. There’s another fabulous flood poem, but I have to keep some things for myself!