Many's the night I dream of sandstone -
The Manse, A Chapter on Dreams -
But linksland, mostly, and sand
And rain on a golf-shack roof.
Fortune, sequestered overseas
Or buried in the female line,
Refreshed, may reassemble,
Form a familiar self.
But the Age of Books is over -
Will there always be vertiginous idealists to light
A panoramic dreamlife, and the company of Stevensonians?
