The Window

He house was old, with tangled wings outthrown
Of which no one could ever half keep track
And in a small room somewhat near the back
Was an odd window sealed with ancient stone
There, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone
I used to go, where night reigned vague and black;
Parting the cobwebs with a curious lack
Of fear, and with a wonder each time grown

One later day I brought the masons there
To find what view my dim forbears had shunned
But as they pierced the stone, a rush of air
Burst from the alien voids that yawned beyond
They fled—but I peered through and found unrolled
All the wild worlds of which my dreams had told