Are these weird and mystic voices
But creations of the brain?
Only in illusive fancy
Must I hear their tones again?

Would some magic power lend me
Aid to stay the witching tone,
Art to pain the beauteous picture
Ere its impress swift has flown.
* * * * * *

While I dreamed the day has faded,
Stars are shining overhead,
Evening winds have ceased to whisper,
Twilight's shadows all have fled.

Thus, too oft, our life-work seemeth,
And we, when disowned its sway,
Find we are pursuing phantoms,
Shadows in the twilight gray.




HOME.

"How many times and oft" has the sweet, sweet word been sung in
song and told in story. And he sang sweetest of home, who had
never a home on earth. If one to whom home was only a poet's