---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Lambourne, Alfred
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 18
number: 8
published: 1915-06
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Alfred Lambourne, "A Dream of the Lands: A Poem," *Improvement Era* 18, no. 8 (June 1915): 696–697.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1808unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera1808unse
start_page: 696
end_page: 697
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1915-06)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1808unse
  publication_year: 1915
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1915, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# A Dream of the Lands: A Poem

<!-- page:696 -->

I
                "
                                    A JBraost of            Ifjr   Eattil*

                                Verses           from the poem, "The Rose of Love."

        tagft                              IiY    ALFRED LAMBOURNE

                        In this Full time, this Hey-day of the Year,
                            My Soul, accordant with the Fairness wrought,
                        Now with the Queenly Roses owns the Sphere,
                            All Earth is   Mine in Luxury of Thought.
v   i

                        T   see the Fair Ones where 'mid Northern Hills

                            The wild Cicada from the Vine is heard
                        That Beauty of the South my Vision fills,
                            Where Sings in Ecstasy the Mocking-bird.

                        That Isle so Verdant fair before me Lies        —
                            Within the Soul old Melody awakes
                        That Dewy land where Form with Feature vies,
                            The Rose-like Beauties by Killarney's Lakes.

                        And Albion with Streams and Meadows bright
                            That Laugh and Smile beneath the Skies of
                                Gray,
                        Where Roses still are Rivals        —Red and White
                            And English Maids are Fresh and Fair as they.
                    h

                        Where Grew the Roses of the Long Ago,
                            And where, Red-hearted, open now Love's Flowers,
                        I   walk in Paths by many a gray Chateau,
                            And in quaint Gardens by old Castle towers.

                        Where o'er the River sound the Lorelei's notes,
                          And Moonlit rocks above the Waters rise,
                        And Hail, as yet the dying Echo floats,
                            The Maids of Rhineland with their Love-lit Eyes.

<!-- page:697 -->

And in Castile I Mingle in the Throng
  Where bright Sierras o'er fair Cities shine ;

Where Spain's old Towers hath Tagns mir-
       rored long,
  And Roses o'er the Moorish lattice twine.

Where Fountains in the Court of Lions play,
  The Lovers of Grenada plead their Suits
And as of old the Roses drip with spray,
  Where Moorish Damsels held their Silver lutes.

O those Bright scenes Imagination views,
  Bohemia and where the Danube runs,
Where by his fire the Dark-browed Lover woos,
  The wild-eyed Gypsy Maiden of the Suns.

And Mine, this Hour, those Scenes of Loveliness,
  Where Sunny Naples looks across the Bay
                                                   '

Where Roses still the Sculptured Graces press,
  And gentle wavelets Laugh in summer play.            M)M

And now the Verdant glades and Ivied slopes,
  Where Peneus its rest through Tempe seeks
Where once the rapt Hellene composed his tropes,
  That Vale of Thessaly beloved of Greeks.

The sighing of low Summer winds I hear,
  As swaying Roses edge the bending Corn,
See slender, pale, the Moonlit columns near,
  The Minarets that grace the Golden Horn.

Alway the Tale that's told is Love's old Tale,
  In lands where Roses fret the Cypress glooms,
Where Behat winds through Cashmir's sunny Vale,
  In old Damascus where the Rose yet blooms.