Imagination

The dreamer sees the finished thing before the start is made;
She sees the roses pink and red beyond the rusty spade,
And all that bleak and barren spot which is so bare to see
Is but a place where very soon the marigolds will be.

Imagination carries her across the dusty years,
And what is dull and commonplace in radiant charm appears.
The little home that she will build where willows bend and bow
Is but the dreamer's paper sketch, but she can see it now.

She sees the little winding walk that slowly finds her door,
The chimney in its ivy dress, the children on the floor;
The staircase where they'll race and romp, the windows where will gleam
The light of peace and happiness - the house that's still a dream.

You see the weeds and rubbish there, and ugliness and grime,
But she can show you where there'll be a swing in summertime.
And she can show you where there'll be a fireplace rich with cheer,
Although you stand and shake your head and think the dreamer queer.

Imagination! This it is the dreamer has today;
She sees the beauty that shall be when time has cleared the way.
She reads the blueprint of her years, and she can plainly see
Beyond life's care and ugliness - the joy that is to be.

- Edgar Albert Guest (1881 - 1959)