Dreams

Dreams
by
Olive Schreiner
To a small girl-child, who may live to grasp somewhat of that which
for us is yet sight, not touch.
Note.
These Dreams are printed in the order in which they were written.
In the case of two there was a lapse of some years between the writing
of the first and last parts; these are placed according to the date of the
first part.
Olive Schreiner.
Matjesfontein, Cape Colony, South Africa. November, 1890.

CONTENTS.
I. The Lost Joy.
II. The Hunter (From "The Story of of an African Farm").
III. The Gardens of Pleasure.
IV. In a Far-off World.
V. Three Dreams in a Desert.

VI. A Dream of Wild Bees (Written as a letter to a friend).
VII. In a Ruined Chapel.
VIII. Life's Gifts.
IX. The Artist's Secret.
X. "I Thought I Stood."
XI. The Sunlight Lay across My Bed.

I. THE LOST JOY.
All day, where the sunlight played on the sea-shore, Life sat.
All day the soft wind played with her hair, and the young, young face
looked out across the water. She was waiting--she was waiting; but she
could not tell for what.
All day the waves ran up and up on the sand, and ran back again, and
the pink shells rolled. Life sat waiting; all day, with the sunlight in her
eyes, she sat there, till, grown weary, she laid her head upon her knee
and fell asleep, waiting still.
Then a keel grated on the sand, and then a step was on the shore--Life
awoke and heard it. A hand was laid upon her, and a great shudder
passed through her. She looked up, and saw over her the strange, wide
eyes of Love--and Life now knew for whom she had sat there waiting.
And Love drew Life up to him.
And of that meeting was born a thing rare and beautiful--Joy, First-Joy
was it called. The sunlight when it shines upon the merry water is not
so glad; the rosebuds, when they turn back their lips for the sun's first
kiss, are not so ruddy. Its tiny pulses beat quick. It was so warm, so soft!
It never spoke, but it laughed and played in the sunshine: and Love and

Life rejoiced exceedingly. Neither whispered it to the other, but deep in
its own heart each said, "It shall be ours for ever."
Then there came a time--was it after weeks? was it after months? (Love
and Life do not measure time)--when the thing was not as it had been.
Still it played; still it laughed; still it stained its mouth with purple
berries; but sometimes the little hands hung weary, and the little eyes
looked out heavily across the water.
And Life and Love dared not look into each other's eyes, dared not say,
"What ails our darling?" Each heart whispered to itself, "It is nothing, it
is nothing, tomorrow it will laugh out clear." But tomorrow and
tomorrow came. They journeyed on, and the child played beside them,
but heavily, more heavily.
One day Life and Love lay down to sleep; and when they awoke, it was
gone: only, near them, on the grass, sat a little stranger, with wide-open
eyes, very soft and sad. Neither noticed it; but they walked apart,
weeping bitterly, "Oh, our Joy! our lost Joy! shall we see you no more
for ever?"
The little soft and sad-eyed stranger slipped a hand into one hand of
each, and drew them closer, and Life and Love walked on with it
between them. And when Life looked down in anguish, she saw her
tears reflected in its soft eyes. And when Love, mad with pain, cried
out, "I am weary, I am weary! I can journey no further. The light is all
behind, the dark is all before," a little rosy finger pointed where the
sunlight lay upon the hill- sides. Always its large eyes were sad and
thoughtful: always the little brave mouth was smiling quietly.
When on the sharp stones Life cut her feet, he wiped the blood upon his
garments, and kissed the wounded feet with his little lips. When in the
desert Love lay down faint (for Love itself grows faint), he ran over the
hot sand with his little naked feet, and even there in the desert found
water in the holes in the rocks to moisten Love's lips with. He was no
burden--he never weighted them; he only helped them forward on their
journey.

When they came to the dark ravine where the icicles hang from the
rocks-- for Love and Life must pass through strange drear places--there,
where all is cold, and the snow lies thick, he took their freezing hands
and held them against his beating little heart, and warmed them--and
softly he drew