Pitch your tent to the East of your dreams

Pitch your tent to the East of your dreams
For those dreams are ruins now:
Starlight knaws the masonry
And cobwebs retrace the windows.

Press on beyond those headstones,
Where unlettered feelings were buried
Hastily, after strange ceremonies:
Let them sleep.

Claim that stretch of level ground
Where the gargoyles cast no shadows,
Where there are neither roses nor thorns,
Where the owl’s song is no longer your own.

Strike camp, my friend,
And put out the light:
Tomorrow shall wake you
As new showers upon old canvas.