By Jean Blewett
I built a castle in the air –
A radiant thing made out of dreams;
Love’s dear desire its golden stair –
Naught heavier than a hope was there –
A thing of mist and rainbow gleams.
But when it fell – ah! when it fell,
Though made o’ dreams and mist and shine,
The mystery of it who can tell?
Its falling shook both heaven and hell,
And ground to dust this heart of mine.