Short Flights by Meredith Nicholson - HTML preview

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WHERE LOVE WAS NOT.

ONCE in a dream I saw a blackened world

Hung high in space, by bitter winds o’erblown;

And there no forests were, no flowers grew,

No river flowed, but all was sad and drear.

And on that smoke-encircled sphere there were

No cities full of life; no children spent

Glad hours in play; there, laughter ne’er was heard,

And day was endless day, and night ne’er came

With tired husband seeking home and wife,

And “home” was but a mocking echo there.

And walking o’er that world I met a man,

Or ghost of what was man, wan, staring-eyed,

And bowed as though with age, albeit his locks

Were fair, and seeming youthful was his face;

And unto him I said in question: “Why

This waste and desolation, and where are

The people that once dwelt upon this world?”

And slow he made reply: “But yesterday

Did Love remove his court from this drear globe,

 

Which was as fair a world as ever came

From the Creator’s hand, and now, so soon,

That Love is flown has come this awful change—

The cheerlessness, the people dead and gone.”

He turned from me, it seemed, and I awoke—

Back in a world that is controlled by Love.