THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE.

To thee we turn, O Land of sunny dream,
    Kind refuge from a world attuned to grey
    With toilsome travail—pleasures reft of play
Where souls go masked and are not what they seem;
But like expectant children at thy door
    We stand, and open with love’s golden key,
    Nor fear to face the manifold mystery
Of fancy’s realm and read its hidden lore.

Our web of life is woven up with sleep,
    Wherefrom but echoes few and faint we bring,
But treasures of our waking dreams we keep
    To fill a world-wide space that crowns us king;
Life filches joys—but yet we will not grieve
If we have still our Land of Make-Believe.

                                                                        Francis Annesley.