Pictures in the Fire.

Pictures in the Fire.
485.5

When the winds whistle ’round the house
And fields are brown and bare,
I sit beside the roaring fire
And watch the pictures there.

The flames leap up and I behold
A wondrous palace, bright,
With arch and column all aglow
With rosy floods of light.

The picture changes. Next, I see
The ocean billows tossed
Against a rocky coast; and then
That picture, too, is lost.

I look again and now I see S
ome happy children play.
I almost hear them laugh and shout,
And then they fade away.

The pictures form, the pictures fade,
And each one fainter seems:
Until at last I fall asleep
And see them in my dreams.
-RUBY T. SCотт.