Dreams and Imagination

That far land we dream about, Where every man is his own architect.

“Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,” The shade replied— “If you seek for Eldorado!”

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space—out of Time.

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.

Because God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.

When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance.

Ever let the fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.

Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Let the mad poets say whate’er they please Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, As a real woman, lineal indeed From Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

He hath awakened from the dream of life.

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright.

That thus enchains us to permitted ill— We might be otherwise—we might be all We dream of happy, high majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind?

The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden, That apparition, sole of men, he saw.

Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep—that death is slumber, And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber Of those who wake and live.

I had a dream which was not all a dream.

The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence.

But there’s nothing half so sweet in life As love’s young dream.

Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean.

Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight ’twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honeydew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora.