Mirage
How is it that, being gone, you fill my days,
And all the long nights are made glad by thee?
No loneliness is this, nor misery,
But great content that these
should be the ways
Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as
she strays,
Makes bright and present what
she would would be.
And who shall say if the reality
Is not with dreams so pregnant.
For delays
And hindrances may bar the wished-for end;
A thousand misconceptions
may prevent
Our souls from coming near enough to blend;
Let me but think
we have the same intent,
That each one needs to call the other,
friend!''
It may be vain illusion. I'm content.
~ Amy Lowell
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