I dreamt of sailing on that spinel sea

That comes to turquoise as we outrun our dreary stars

 And make them new.

The red-faced Sun, here not in mockery,

But sublimely sinking, beckoning beloved night

And all that is my truth.

At dreaming’s last the mountains of my inner eye

 Sable-climb against the western ruby-embered sky.

I know upon awakening from my assumption

That I would give the riches of my gemmed escaping 

For an hour another could surely afford to gift.