THE DREAMER in me keeps on dreaming though my lips are babbling and my eyes are watchful... I may be in the railroad terminal speaking to a friend. The dreamer is on a warm moist hill under the cloudsoft skies, He feels the Earth moving and smells the flowers down to their roots, He pierces the blue heavens with his wings. Then I look round and think, how strange: Stone walls: crowds: my friend and I... Yet all of us seen by the dreamer as a little blur in the skies, As a patter in immensity... Where are we? where is Earth? where are the skies? The dreamer shivers and laughs: It is so miraculous, visionary and grotesque, Such nonsense, this reality... Yet my friend and I go on talking as if there were nothing strange in it at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KEATS TO FANNY BRAWNE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL HESTER PRYNNE? by KAREN SWENSON FUCHSIA HEDGES IN CONNACHT by PADRAIC COLUM WREATHE THE BOWL by THOMAS MOORE A CHRISTMAS CAROL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SCURVY ENTERTAINMENT by ABU ABD ALLAH AT THE LATTICE by ALFRED AUSTIN THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY: ACT 2, SCENE 1 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |