My happy happy dream is finished with, My dream in which alone I lived so long. My heart slept -- woe is me, it wakeneth; Was weak -- I thought it strong. Oh wearying wakening from a life-true dream: Oh pleasant dream from which I wake in pain: I rested all my trust on things that seem, And all my trust is vain. I must pull down my palace that I built, Dig up the pleasure-gardens of my soul; Must change my laughter to sad tears for guilt, My freedom to control. Now all the cherished secrets of my heart, Now all my hidden hopes are turned to sin: Part of my life is dead, part sick, and part Is all on fire within. The fruitless thought of what I might have been Haunting me ever will not let me rest: A cold north wind has withered all my green, My sun is in the west. But where my palace stood, with the same stone, I will uprear a shady hermitage; And there my spirit shall keep the house alone, Accomplishing its age: There other garden beds shall lie around Full of sweet-briar and incense-burning thyme; There I will sit, and listen for the sound Of the last lingering chime. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BLACK EAGLE RETURNS TO ST. JOE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MY SISTER by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH POPULARITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES MISS MILLY O'NAIRE by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER THE PYXIDANTHERA by AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL |