The Dream Is Dying.
There came a tumult at the quiet
A voice cut through the mellow mid-
"The Dream is dying !"
The dream that kindled fire in the
And wrought fair cities of the mist
Painted the mountain peaks against
And lit the stars of heaven one by
The desert's luring images are
There is no music but the bell's lone
Joy, grief and longing from hence-
forth are one,
The heavens are rolled together as
The dream is dying.
__Elizabeth N. Barr.
The High Winds of Home
Elizabeth N. Barr
(Olathe: privately published. 1922)