IV. DREAM

Sometimes I dream that you are back with me,

And that with hands together clasped we go

Like little children, young and glad and free,

A-down a magic road we used to know.

Sometimes I dream your eyes upon my face,

And feel your fingers softly touch my hair....

And when I wake from dreaming all the place,

Seems lonelier because you are not there.

What is a dream? Not very much, they say,

An idle vision made in castled Spain —

Well, maybe they are right.... And yet, today,

When all the warring world was swept with pain,

The suffering and sorrow ceased to be,

Because I dreamed that you were back with me!