WE all have dreams when we are young, sweet dreams of future splendor; we see upon our pathway flung all kinds of legal tender; we see ourselves achieve a fame that spreads from Troy to Goshen, so all the people speak our name with fervor and emotion. Then some of us sit down and wait the vision's sweet fulfilling, depending on a kindly fate to help us make a killing. We wait till we are weak and old, for Fortune's kindly token; we wait till we are green with mold, and all our dreams are broken. Our hearts are filled with bleak despair when wintry age approaches, and to the poorhouse we repair, to weep and swat the roaches. And some have dreams of gorgeous hue, fine dreams of coming glory. "We'll make those dreams," they say, "come true, before we're old and hoary." With willing feet and eager hands they're chasing Fortune always, while t'other dreamer idly stands, or sits and chews his galways. Oh, dreams are fine if you have spunk to follow up the vision, but all those dreams are simply bunk which bring free gifts elysian. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WOMEN WITH FABLED HAIR by MADELINE DEFREES SUNRISE AND SUNSET: 1. SUNRISE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) WINDS ARE THE WATCHMEN by IVA PURDUM BRUTON CREOLE SLAVE SONG: BELLE LAYOTTE by GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE |