When dreams depart, then it is time to die, Nay, thou art dead when thy dear dreams depart Even though thy ghost still haunts the crowded mart, Still with proud grace salutes the passer-by, Reaps golden grain when the hot sun rides high, Sails the far seas with compass and with chart, Of the world's burdens bears its wonted part, Or faces doom with calm, undaunted eye. For dreams—they are the very breath of life; The "little leaven" that informs the whole; Wine of the gods, poured from the upper skies; Manna from heaven, to nerve thee for the strife. Fetter thy dreams and hold them fast, O soul! When they depart, it is thyself that dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: ELENOR MURRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO SIR HENRY WOTTON (1) by JOHN DONNE THE FACTORY; 'TIS AN ACCURSED THING! by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON SONG, WRITTEN AT SEA, IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665 ... by CHARLES SACKVILLE (1637-1706) |