IMAGINATION'S HARVEST.
Oh, how powerless we seem to secure Fancy's dream,
Though before our rapt gaze it be floating;
And to garner a mine of the rich gems that shine,
Yet are lost for the lack of our noting.
Thus in sickness sometimes, like strange musical chimes,
Come sweet visions enchanting to meet us;
But they pass from our sight like a bird in its flight,
And are gone ere their gladness can greet us.
Then, if buoyant in health, they deny us their wealth,
And leave us to commonplace duties;
Though with bliss Life is fraught, we scarce harbour a thought
Of their wondrous though swift-fleeting beauties.
While oft in our mind when their traces we find,
We would pen their pure brilliance for others,
But the glories we see, though entrancing they be,
Are as nought in the eyes of our brothers.
