"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams,
O man of many songs;
To thee the actual only seems--
No realm to thee belongs."

"Seest thou those mountains in the east,
O man of ready aim?"
"'T is only vapours that thou seest,
In mountain form and name."

"Nay, nay, I know them all too well,
Each ridge, and peak, and dome;
In that cloud-land, in one high dell,
Nesteth my little home."




BETTER THINGS.


Better to smell a violet,
Than sip the careless wine;
Better to list one music tone,
Than watch the jewels' shine.

Better to have the love of one,
Than smiles like morning dew;