I would I had some magic pen
That would my thoughts convey.
There were a mighty pen that would
The world astound to-day.
They come and go as fountains flow:
Unceasing, always flowing,
For while some thoughts are coming fast
The others fast are going.
BY THE FIRESIDE.
On the bright red coals before me,
Pictures come and pictures go—
Pictures of the waiting future
Filled with gladness or with woe.
By the fireside do I picture
To myself my destiny.
Who knows but these golden raptures
May be real unto me.
Though the storm outside be raving
And the snowflakes drift on high;
By the fireside I am safely
Counting on what may be nigh.
All the flames fly ever upward
Coiling into every form.
Fairies circle ever round me
Heedless of the outside storm.
Still I watch the weird wild raptures
Of the golden dream so nigh.
Let us love our happy fancies
E’er the time has passed us by.