Dreams in their improvement have breath,
Also tears, and torments, and the hint of happiness;
They leave a load upon our waking musings,
They take a load from off waking work,
They truly do separate our being; they become
A piece of ourselves, memory

DESIRE (Poet)

btcco

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own reality,

A limit between the things incorrectly named

Demise and presence: Sleep hath its own reality,

Also, dreams in their improvement have breath,

Also tears, and torments, and the hint of happiness;

They leave a load upon our waking musings,

They truly do separate our being; they become

A piece of ourselves as within recent memory,

Furthermore, look like messengers of forever;

They pass like spirits of the past-they talk

Like sibyls of things to come; they have power-

The oppression of delight and of torment;

They make us what we were not-what they will,

Furthermore, shake us with the vision that is gone by,

The fear of evaporated shadows-Are they so?

Isn't the previous all shadow?- What are they?

Manifestations of the psyche?- The brain can make

Substances, and individuals planets of their own

With creatures more splendid than have been, and give

A breath to structures that can outlast all tissue.

I would review a dream which I envisioned

Furthermore coagulates a long life into 60 minutes.

I saw two creatures in the tones of youth

Remaining upon a slope, a delicate slope,

Green and of gentle inclination, the last

Save that there was no ocean to leave its base,

However, most living scenes, and the wave

Of woods and corn-fields, and the houses of men

Dispersed at stretches, and wreathing smoke

Emerging from such rural rooftops: the slope

Was delegated with an impossible to miss diadem

Of trees, in the roundabout exhibit, so fixed,

Not by the game of nature, but rather of man:

These two, a lady and a young, were there

Looking the one on all that was underneath

Fair as herself-however the kid looked on her;

What's more, both were youthful, and one was excellent:

Furthermore, both were youthful yet not the same in youth.

As the sweet moon not too far off's a skirt,

The house cleaner was just before womanhood;

The kid had fewer summers, however his heart

Had far grown out of his years, and to his eye

There was nevertheless one cherished face on the planet,

Also, that was beaming on him; he had looked

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