FROM the drear wastes of unfulfilled desire, We harvest dreams that never come to pass, Then pour our wine amid the dying fire, And on the cold hearth break the empty glass. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE COTTON MILL FUNERAL by STEWART ATKINS BOUTS RIMES IN PRAISE OF OLD MAIDS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE DREAMING MAN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH ST. BEE'S HEAD by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN JUNE'S COMING by JOHN BURROUGHS |