TIME is a wilderness and Fancy sets

Her mirage, far or near, to mock our dreams.

Behold the desert marge the mind forgets,

The waving fronds of palm, the gliding streams.

The scented air, un canopied by cloud,

Is thick with unimaginable themes.

A groundswell paves the silence ; this the loud

Wingbeats of Splendour trouble with golden gleams.