Illusion

I

When man comes down from his heavenly home

On earth through the cloudy screen,

He still half dreams of his starry flowers

And his moon-faced fairy queen:

A dear little light and a queer little dark,

And a smile and a cry between.

II

And his screen gets thicker and thicker here;

Less bright do his dreams now come;

His stars are his grapes and his acid-drops,

His moon is his little drum:

A sweet little prattle, a sweet little lisp;

And a tumble completes his sum.

III

And the screen gets thicker and thicker still,

And he starts with his waxing weight;

His stars are his playing marbles now,

His moon is his rimless slate;

And he rubs his eyes, and looks to the skies,

All the world to penetrate.

IV

No more does he dream of his garden now:

New glories appear on the field;

His stars are his gleaming arrow-heads,

His moon is his trusty shield.

O the glorious flood of his full warm blood,

That even to gods would not yield!

V

And a new-heaven dream fills his pulsing heart,

And he leads a new fairy home:

His stars are her bright enchanting eyes,

His moon is his rich honeycomb;

And launching his boat on the wide sea afloat,

He sails out thro' splash and foam.

VI

Ah, the screen is thickest before him now–

He has learnt to lie and hate;

His stars are his sparkling gold-dust stored,

His moon is his silver plate;–

A good deal of pride, and a step go-wide,

And a pose like a deity great.

VI

But lo!he has verged to his sunset-land,

And at last there breaks the spell:

His stars are now his rosary-beads,

His moon is his temple bell;

And he sees again with a twin-edged pain

His dreams of heaven and hell!