ILLUSION.

I SEE the western sky aflame with gold,

Hung with the richest purple tapestries,

As though there were a way to mysteries,

A passage to some realm of wealth untold,

To mystic lands which gods and heroes hold;

And when I wonder what that country is,

And if those there enjoy unmeasured bliss,

And long to pass with eagle flight and bold,

Then dark the clouds grow, shutting out from sight

The faint glimpse of those Islands of the Blest,

And, taking with him all the day's sweet light,

The Sun-god leaves the world to starry rest.

I say then, as its glories fade in night,

"There is no Blessed Land in that far West."

N. H. D.