Where Dreams Are Sold.

Where Dreams Are Sold.
575.2

At the silken sign of the Poppy.
At a shop that is never old.
Where the twilight silence lingers,
It is there that dreams are sold.

There’s the scent of love’s lost roses,
The soft echo of childhood’s laugh;
There’s the ring of empty glasses,
For the white lips never quaff.

To the crimson sign of the Poppy
We shall come when the daylight dies,
When the curfew music quivers
Neath the gray of evening skies.

Just beyond the gates of sunset,
Where the grim toll of death we pay,
We shall find the shop of dream-wares.
Where the poppies hang alway.

So, we long for the dusk of twilight,
When with wealth or no earthly gold,
We shall come where sleep-flowers cls- ter.
To the shops where dreams are sold.
-Canadian Magazine.