Page:Rosemary and Pansies.djvu/32

This page has been validated.
Are shadows of our dreams—no more; Heaven is a dream of yearning born, And hell the dream of the forlorn; Angels are born from sunny skies, Devils from night and storm arise; A vast phantasmagoric birth Is all our wondrous heaven and earth; Space, Time, the Universe, are naught But shadows of that central Thought, Which mortals ne'er may comprehend, Whence issues all, where all doth end: O'er all is phantasy supreme, What most seems real is most a dream!
The visions that we dream to-day That seem such newness to display, Were dreamed in dim and long-past ages By patriarchs, poets, lovers, sages; All that we feel and all we know Were felt and known long, long ago; We think no thought, no passions feel Save such as nature did reveal To our first father, when this earth From fiery star-dust sprang to birth. We dream of progress gained by stages Successive through successive ages. But like a squirrel in a cage Never advance a single stage, Or like a horse to mill-wheel bound For ever travel round and round; Condemned to think thoughts thought before, And wearily to travel o'er The barren realm of make-believe, And knowingly ourselves deceive

16

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.