The Fading Vision

    The vision fades - dome, pinnacle and tower,
        All the white beauty of the lake-side dream,
        The artist's ideal, the poet's theme
    Vanish away. Yet for no fleeting hour

    Was this proud fabric raised. The crumbling wall
        Entombs not memory's treasure, and we hold
        This truth dear as the miser his loved gold,
    Dome, pinnacle and tower cannot fall.

    No marvel this, that memory holds fast
        Such beauty, passing beauty seen before,
        The grace and charm of every clime and shore,
    Strength of today, the glories of the past,

    All met in one great whole - for not alone
        Man's hand the wonder wrought, but soaring high
        His spirit, like the bird that cleaves the sky,
    Knew naught of obstacle from zone to zone.

    Deathless his work. Age shall repeat to age
        The story of the city by the Lake.
        And as the waves that on the near sands break
    Reach far-off shores, so on the pictured page

    Throughout remotest time, serene in pride,
        Wearing her crown of glory, shall be seen
        Stately and fair, Chicago, Western queen,
    With all the Nations gathered at her side.

    Gladly they met, each teaching and each taught,
        Light-skinned or dark-skinned from the West or East.
        Peoples unlike, as at a loving feast,
    Distant no more, united in a thought.

    Columbia! this thy lesson, learn it well -
        The comity of Nations; this the plan
        Of God from time's first dawn, that man with man,
    Bound in one brotherhood in peace should dwell.

    Great Voyager, whose caravels outsped
        Man's swiftest fancy in those earlier days!
        If, looking far beyond the curving bays
    Of this new world thy glowing spirit read

    That here there stretched a mighty continent
        Where a sure haven for mankind should be,
        Small didst thou count thy peril on the sea,
    Well knowing what thy sufferings had meant.

    For it was thine to turn toward the West
        The worn old-world, and westward as the star
        Of Power moves, nor tyranny nor war
    Its fires sustains - it shines for the oppressed.

    The vision fades - dome, pinnacle and tower -
        Yet fades not like the substance of a dream -
        Nation to Nation, State to State shall seem
    Drawn to each other closer through its power.

    1893

Helen Leah Reed

Helen Leah Reed (1860-1926) was an American author and poet, renowned for her contributions to children's literature and her historical novels. She was an influential literary figure of her time, often remembered for her stories that blended education with entertainment. Reed's works reflected her deep knowledge and interest in history, making her a notable figure in early 20th-century American literature.

Helen Leah Reed

Horace And Lydia. III-9 (From The Odes Of Horace)

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

Song Of Spring

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

The Grand Army Passes

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

The Rivals

Helen Leah Reed, Simple Poetry

English

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The Mississippi.[A]

I.

Far in the West, where snow-capt mountains rise,
Like marble shafts beneath Heaven's stooping dome,
And sunset's dreamy curtain drapes the skies,
As if enchantment there would build her home
O'er wood and wave, from haunts of men away
From out the glen, all trembling like a child,
A babbling streamlet comes as if to play
Albeit the scene is savage, lone and wild.
Here at the mountain's foot, that infant wave
'Mid bowering leaves doth hide its rustic birth
Here learns the rock and precipice to brave
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Far, far from hence, its bosom deep and wide,
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The Morn That Breaks Its Heart Of Gold

From an ode "In Commemoration of the Founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony."

The morn that breaks its heart of gold
Above the purple hills;
The eve, that spills
Its nautilus splendor where the sea is rolled;
The night, that leads the vast procession in
Of stars and dreams, -
The beauty that shall never die or pass: -
The winds, that spin
Of rain the misty mantles of the grass,
And thunder raiment of the mountain-streams;
The sunbeams, penciling with gold the dusk
Green cowls of ancient woods;
The shadows, thridding, veiled with musk,
The moon-pathed solitudes,
Call to my Fancy, saying, "Follow! follow!"
Till, following, I see, -
Fair as a cascade in a rainbowed hollow, -
A dream, a shape, take form,
Clad on with every charm, -

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How Long?

    How long, and yet how long,
Our leaders will we hail from over seas,
Master and kings from feudal monarchies,
    And mock their ancient song
With echoes weak of foreign melodies?


    That distant isle mist-wreathed,
Mantled in unimaginable green,
Too long hath been our mistress and our queen.
    Our fathers have bequeathed
Too deep a love for her, our hearts within.


    She made the whole world ring
With the brave exploits of her children strong,
And with the matchless music of her song.
    Too late, too late we cling
To alien legends, and their strains prolong.


    This fresh young world I see,
With heroes, cities, legends of her own;
With a new race of men, and overblown
    By winds from sea to sea,
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Emma Lazarus