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The Cry of the Dreamer

From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, January 14, 1915. By John Boyle O’Reilly.

I am tired of planning and toiling
    In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling
    And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
    Where I dreamed my youth away,
For a dreamer lives forever,
    And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
    Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
    In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thought’s endeavor,
    I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever
    And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity,
    For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
    But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
    And the child mind choked with weeds!
The daughter’s heart grown willful,
    And the father’s heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street’s rude bustle,
    From trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the wood’s low rustle
    And the meadow’s kindly page.
Let me dream as of yore by the river
    And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
    And a thinker dies in a day.

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