Who has not hid a dream within his heart, Intending to return a later day, To find it still alive, still set apart, Grown lovelier than when he went away; Then, leaving it, gone out to win his bread Among bright things the mob was running after— Well satisfied, providing he were fed And all his days were gay with love and laughter? Who has not, later, probed his mind, alone, To find the dream was dead these many years; The world had given him for bread ... a stone;— His loss immutable by grief or tears. Who has not cursed his flippant, careless youth For buying laughter with the price of Truth? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MUSIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HILDRUP TUBBS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A GIRL'S THOUGHTS by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE MAGPIES IN PICARDY by T. P. CAMERON WILSON THE GLORIOUS GIFT OF GOD by BENJAMIN BEDDOME |