NIGHT dreams of day, and winter seems In sleep to breathe the balm of May. Their dreams are true anon; but they, The dreamers, then, alas, are dreams. Thus, while our days the dreams renew Of some forgotten sleeper, we, The dreamers of futurity, Shall vanish when our own are true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LAST PRAYER by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |