Words, such as dreamers utter;
Songs, played on dulcet strings;
Pictures, that hold beauty deathless--
Here, on the verge,
They fade away to dull colors,
Faint songs,
Echoes of words.
Let the sunsets paint it,
And the rainbows.
Let the pueblos whisper of it--
Voices of long ago.
Let the river sing of it--
A wild thing, caged, escaping.
