Sell me a dream

Ah, maker of dreams,

could you weave me a dream

of a home coming soldier's boy

with the old sweet smile on his nutbrown face,

and his eyes telling tales in their joy?

Could you send him back in his batter'd old plane

with a whir and a whiz thro' the air,

To a dear little cottage in a wee western town,

and have me waiting there?

Could you blot out the long,

the lonely years that have gone

since he fell and the best of me died!

"What is it you're saying, O maker of dreams?"

Ah, no, I cannot, I have tried!