"I walk in dreams of poetry

the very air I breathe

Is filled with visions wild and free,

That round my spirit wreathe;

A shade, a sigh, a floating cloud, 

A low and whispered tone --

These have a language to my brain,

A language deep and lone."

"I walk in dreams of poetry

And in my spirit bow

Unto a lone and distant shrine

That none around me know

From every heath and hill I bring

A garland rich and rare, 

Of flowering thought, and murmuring sigh

To wreathe mine altar fair."

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"And strange it is; I cannot say

If it is wo or weal

That thus unto my heart can flow

Fountains so few can feel,

The gift that can my spirit raise

This cold dark earth above,

Has flung a bar between my soul

And many a heart I love."

Catherine Warfield & Eleanor Lee