Reason indeed may oft complain 
For Nature’s sad reality, 
And tell the suffering heart how vain 
Its cherished dreams must always be; 
And Truth may rudely trample down 
The flowers of Fancy newly blown.

But thou art ever there to bring 
The hovering visions back and breathe 
New glories o’er the blighted spring 
And call a lovelier life from death, 
And whisper with a voice divine 
Of real worlds as bright as thine.