There came a tumult at the quiet door
A voice cut through the mellow midnight crying
"The Dream is dying!"
The dream that kindled fire in the sun,
And wrought fair cities of the mist and dew,
Painted the mountain peaks against the blue,
And lit the stars of heaven one by one.
The desert's luring images are gone,
There is no music but the bell's lone toll,
Joy, grief and longing from henceforth are one,
The heavens are rolled together as a scroll,
The dream is dying.
