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DREAMS

DREAMS

Edgar Allan Poe, 1827



    Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
    My spirit not awakening, till the beam
    Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
    Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
    'Twere better than the cold reality
    Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
    And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
    A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
    But should it be- that dream eternally
    Continuing- as dreams have been to me
    In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
    'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
    For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
    I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
    And loveliness,- have left my very heart
    In climes of my imagining, apart
    From mine own home, with beings that have been
    Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
    'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
    From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
    Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
    Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
    Its image on my spirit- or the moon
    Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
    Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
    That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.


    I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
    I have been happy- and I love the theme:
    Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
    As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
    Of semblance with reality, which brings
    To the delirious eye, more lovely things
    Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
    Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.


Last modified: February 08 2006 17:36:05.