Poem by Constance Caroline Woodhill Naden

Illusions

NOT in the heavens alone is Truth renowned;
Sad human hearts, that seem to love her less,
Even in mutiny her power confess:
We speak in fables, and are compassed round
With poesy, distilling song from sound,
Colour from light, and hope from happiness;
Subliming weakness, yearning, and distress,
To that high faith wherewith our life is crowned.

All fair deceits are prophets of the truth,
E'en as the desert mirage tells a tale
Of palms and wells, real, though far away:
The star-bright hopes that light the world's dim youth
Are not too brilliant, but too silvery pale,
To sparkle still, when dawns the golden day.

1. Scientific Wooing
2. Moonlight and Gas
3. The New Orthodoxy
4. December, 1879
5. Undiscerned Perfection

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