On Dreams

By Eliza And Sarah Wolcott

When sleep on downy pinions finds repose,
Then all the mental powers their force begin,
Moments are days, such thoughts our dreams enclose,
And all the rounds of life are reckoned in.
With magic flight we every land explore,
And visit realms in fancy’s wide domain,
We cull the fruit from autumn’s favorite store,
While images forgot teturn again.
Cold winter’s blast may fall in storms of snow,
And unregarded lie in this repose,
Where nought but summer zephyrs gently flow,
Among the violets where the dreamer goes.
The days fly swiftly in an hour of dreams,
We banquet with our friends, we journey, sleep,
We plan, we execute our favorite schemes,
While midnight vigils all these projects keep.
We wake, and smile, and say, ’twas all a dream,
We scarcely moralize upon the past;
But could we give to life its real name,
I think ‘twould well compare with dreams at last.
As vain as dreams, are all our hopes, below,
Of happiness, which ne’er makes good her name,
But leaves an aching void in all, to show
That truth and wisdom are her only claim.

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