There soars a warbler toward high Heaven, His course seems sure and straight;— So speeds an arrow from the bow-string, Yet who can read his fate! For while he carols like a seraph Bound for a radiant star Mayhap the fowler's eye, relentless, Has doomed him from afar. A longer life the crawling snail hath Than thou—O wanderer bright— Ah, let the sluggard crawl in safety, Thine is the realm of light! Like thee a soaring soul's in peril, Yet its one hour is worth A whole Eternity of grovelling Closer to grimy earth. His course seems sure and straight;— Yet who can read his fate! Bound for a radiant star Has doomed him from afar. Than thou—O wanderer bright— Thine is the realm of light! Yet its one hour is worth Closer to grimy earth. [25] [25] A FANCY A FANCY The world of dreams is all my own, Wherein I wander—free, alone;— And each weird, fervid fantasy Is dearer than earth's joys to me. The waking world I share with you; And yours, as mine, is the ocean's blue. For us both spring's early flowers are fair, Or the cold stars gleam through the frosty air. But in the world of dreams I rove Over sunny fields, or in shaded grove,— Such beauty your eyes never saw— And all is mine without let or law. Ah! the hopes and fears that come and go With my flying fancy, none may know; Though unsubstantial, it seems My real world—this world of dreams. And each weird, fervid fantasy
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