MY DREAM

GIVE me no dream of the city,
The palace, the mill or the mart;
I would rather the call of the open
Rang clear in the depths of my head.
The rustle of leaf in the forest
The song of the wood and the stream,
The voice of the hill and the valley—
This is my dream—my dream.
Give me no gold of the toiler
Gleaned in his house of clay;
I would rather the peace that lingers
Over each woodland way.
The glint of the sun in the branches,
The night and its stars agleam,
The voice of the breeze in the woodland trees
This is my dream—my dream.
Give me no sound of the traffic
And strife of the city's kind;
I would rather the woodland whispers,
The balm of the forest wind.
The song of the bird in the open,
The lilt of the shaded stream
And the charm that lies in the open skies—
This is my dream—my dream.

—Harry T. Fee.

Western, Field. Western Field - Sportsmans Magazine of the West. San Francisco: Western Field, 1907.

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