OUR MINNIE’S DREAM.
Reading edition
———
BY A REVERIST.
———
Her dream is like this book-mark red,
Which has long lain buried
Within a hallowéd tome;
If to unfold the page, soul-bid,
Mark the contrast, all unsaid,
Of the fresh deep ruby—wed
To the fastness dear of home—
And the faded outside hue
Of a token all too true
From its claspéd cell to roam.
All that the idle world hath kenned
Is like the faded, visible end
Of that lore-lettered mark;
Dim, sadly paled its pristine hues,
In streaming through earth’s chilling dews,
Obedient to imperious muse.
The folded end, still perfect, bright,
In keeping here of household faith,
Awaits Heaven’s kindly angel, Death,
To open it to truer light.