A magic wrought of dying dreams
A wizard light that creeps and glows;
Painting grey hills and sluggish streams
In tints of gold and rose
In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay
And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze
All rank on rank the tall white lillies stood,
The graceful palms against the rose-flushed sky
Showed gemmed with dew-drops, and red poppies glowed
Through the rank grass near by.
They tell of harps and golden crowns, and singing,
But oh, I think, when ends the strife and pain,
They don’t believe in fairies,
Those old folk wide and staid,
They’ve never caught the glitter
Of their wings in forest shade.
We are saddling Don and Laddie,
Mid laughter, and fun and noise
And maybe, a sigh in passing
For vanished holiday joys.
Oh my heart beat high with joy elate,
When Danny rode in the Hunters’ Plate
On Enniskillen, the raking grey-
A mighty jumper, with power to stay!
The double-blossomed peach-trees with rosy bloom were gay
When grandpa rode beneath them upon his courting way,
A letter from “The East” it came today,
And all the house is lightened of its gloom:
A sun-browned desert wind through every room