The Dream
Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a...
This is a poetry & verse.
Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their developement have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of Joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of Eternity; They pass like spirits of the past,--they speak Like Sibyls of the future; they have power-- The tyranny of pleasure and of pain; They make us what we were not--what they will, And shake us with…
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