A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream—that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar—
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day-star?
Memoir of a Writer 
Reblogged this on Stream of Consciousness purplehayes58.com.
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My waking dreams quail in fear,
of my nighttime flights of fantasy.
How could the world compete with such
kaleidoscopes of whimsy?
I wake, a struggle to rise from bed,
slumber beings beg me back.
Yet I sling them from my dreary day,
and crawl upon the rack.
For my daylight slog of pasty light,
blurs, a painted smear.
Until the night, with sprites alight,
and unconscious spirits cheer.
-Anonymole, for Zarah
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