DREAMING THE DREAM OF LIFE.

A fig for the world and its carping cares, Its worry and wear and fret— A fig for the poppies that passion wears, Fast followed by dull regret: A fig for the glitter, and gilt, and gaud That’s won in a tawdry strife, Filling the world with the clash of swords— Marring the sweetest of human chords Born in the valleys where dreamers wait, Dreaming the dream of Life. If I own no love for the arts that mould The minds and the souls of men, There lurks no charm in the miser’s gold, Or the heft of the writer’s pen. I wear no frown for the clod below, No cringe for the clown above; For I tread but the path where the roses blow, And I pin one bud to her breast of snow, And I weave a glorious wreath to crown My goddess of Peace and Love. Her liquid eyes are a hazel grey And her lips are ruby red, And the dusk of the night and the light of day In the depths of her glance are wed. The old world hustles on eager feet, And its songs are the songs of strife, But we stand aside from the glare and heat And we draw the curtain of Love’s retreat— This dainty spirit of youth and I Dreaming the dream of Life. A fig for the warrior’s crown of fame! For the faithless world’s caress! A fig for the poet’s or painter’s name Whose haven is nothingness! A fig for the transient light divine That halos some godlike head! For the Spring-time breaks and the stars all shine, And the world goes round for this wife of mine ... Oh, the spirit of languorous love will live When the spirit of strife is dead!