I dreamed a dream of St. Francis who kneeled and prayed

For the birds and the beasts and all human kind

All through the night I felt drawn in by him

And I heard him call like a distant hymn

I retreated from the silence of my room

Stepping down the ancient stones washed with dawn

And entered the basilica that bore his name

Seeing his effigy I bowed my head

And my racing heart, I gave to him

I kneeled and prayed and sleep

That I could not find in the night

I found through him

I saw before me the world of his world

The bright fields, the birds in abundance

All of nature of which he sang singing of him

All the beauty that surrounded him as he walked

His nature that was nature itself and I heard him

I heard him speak and the birds sang sweetly

And the wolves licked his feet

But I could not give myself to him

I felt another call from the basilica itself

The call of art, the call of man

And the beauty of the material drew me away

And I awoke and beheld upon the wall

The dream of Constantine

The handiwork of Piero della Francesca

Who had stood where I stood

And with his brush stroke

The legend of the true cross

And he envisioned Constantine

Advancing to greet the enemy

And as he was passing the river

An unaccustomed fear gripped his bowels

An anticipation so overwhelming

That it manifested in waves

All through the night the dream drew toward him

As an advancing crusade

He slept in his tent on the battlefield

While his men stood guard

And an angel awoke him

Constantine within his dream awoke

And his men saw a light pass over the face

Of the king, the troubled king

And the angel came and showed to him

The sign of the true cross in heaven

And upon it was written

"In this sign shall thou conquer"

In the distance, the tents of his army were lit by moonlight

But another kind of radiance lit the face of Constantine

And in the morning light the artist seeing his work was done

Saw it was good in this sign shall thou conquer

He let his brush drop and passed into a sleep of his own

And he dreamed of Constantine

Carrying him into battle in his right hand

An immaculate undefiled and simple white cross

Piero della Francesca, as his brush stroked the wall

Filled with the torpor and fell into a dream of his own

From the geometry of his heart, he mapped it out

He saw the king rise, fitted with armor set upon a white horse

An immaculate cross in his right hand

He advanced toward the enemy and the symmetry

The perfection of his mathematics

Caused the scattering of the enemy agitated, broken

They fled and Piero dela Francesca, waking, cried out

All is art, all is future, oh Lord, let me die on the back of adventure

With a brush and an eye full of light

As he advanced in age the light was shorn from him

His eyes, blinded, he layed upon his bed

On an october morning, 1492 whispering

Oh Lord, let me die on the back of adventure

Oh Lord, let me die on the back of adventure, oh

And a world away, the world away

On three great ships, adventure itself as if to answer

Pulling into the new world

And as far as his eyes could see, no longer blind

All of nature, unspoiled, beautiful, beautiful

Such a manner it would have lifted

The heart of St. Francis into the realm of universal love

Columbus set foot on the new world

He witnessed beauty unspoiled

All of the delights given by God as if in Eden itself

As if Eden had opened up her heart to him

And opened her dress and all of her fruit, gave to him

And Columbus so overwhelmed

Fell into a sleep of his own

All the world in his sleep, all of the beauty

All of the beauty entwined with the future

The 21st century advancing like the angel

Advancing like the angel

That had come to Constantine

Constantine and history

Oh, this is your cross to bear

Oh Lord, oh Lord, let me deliver

Hallowed adventure

To all mankind in the future

Oh art, cried the painter

Oh art, oh art, cried the angel

Art, the great material gift of man

Art that hath denied the hungered pleas of St. Francis

Oh thou, artist, all shall crumble in the dust

Oh thou, navigator, the terrible end of man

This is your gift to mankind

This is your cross to bear

Then Columbus saw all of nature aflame

The apocalyptic night

And the dream of the troubled king

Dissolved into light