Wherein I thought the fairy muses dreamed.
Thither so oft I went that soon it seemed
My soul, when lonely, sought that quiet dale.
So I would go; and, when all else would fail,
Peace met me there, with gentle eyes that streamed
In sympathy; and Hope came; and I deemed
That, sheltered safe from every stormy gale,
Dreaming sweet dreams, 'twere sweet to rest me there
Forevermore. And, haply, soine sweet bard
Might see my grave, and sing, while cooed the dove,
And breathed the balm of 'fumed air and sward,
Of life and death, and mystery, and love;
And all the tender hopes that waft us up above.
Published in The Voice of the Negro Magazine, April 1904