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THE REALM OF FANCY. 3/5
A mother's prayers may shield no more,
Her love no longer soothe their breast;
But when they pass from time's dark shore,
0 may they find her place of rest! i.
THE REALM OF FANCY.
Am I poor ? Nay, I own the' realm of thought, "With ideal sunshine fraught: Imagination's utmost flight Could not pass its fields of light.
This fair realm Lies not in the distant west Where the sun sinks bright to rest-— " Nay ! a milder beaming sky Makes its starry canopy.
There the flowers, Flowers of poesy and hope, Lift their deathless petals up; There the wing of fancy bright Gilds the streams with sacred light.
I 'd not give These possessions that I hold, For the richest mines of gold, Though they cost me many a tear,, Many a dark, foreboding fear.