Dreams in Void
(the Conception)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
DREAMS 
Edgar Allan Poe 
     Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! 
     My spirit not awakening, till the beam 
     Of an Eternity should bring the morrow. 
     Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, 
     'Twere better than the cold reality 
     Of waking life, to him whose heart must be, 
     And hath been still, upon the lovely earth, 
     A chaos of deep passion, from his birth. 
     But should it be- that dream eternally 
     Continuing- as dreams have been to me 
     In my young boyhood- should it thus be given, 
     'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven. 
     For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright 
     I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light 
     And loveliness,- have left my very heart 
     In climes of my imagining, apart 
     From mine own home, with beings that have been 
     Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen? 
     'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour 
     From my remembrance shall not pass- some power 
     Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind 
     Came o'er me in the night, and left behind 
     Its image on my spirit- or the moon 
     Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon 
     Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was 
     That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass. 

     I have been happy, tho' in a dream. 
     I have been happy- and I love the theme: 
     Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life, 
     As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife 
     Of semblance with reality, which brings 
     To the delirious eye, more lovely things 
     Of Paradise and Love- and all our own! 
     Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known. 

 A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM 
Edgar Allan Poe 
     Take this kiss upon the brow! 
     And, in parting from you now, 
     Thus much let me avow- 
     You are not wrong, who deem 
     That my days have been a dream; 
     Yet if hope has flown away 
     In a night, or in a day, 
     In a vision, or in none, 
     Is it therefore the less gone? 
     All that we see or seem 
     Is but a dream within a dream. 

     I stand amid the roar 
     Of a surf-tormented shore, 
     And I hold within my hand 
     Grains of the golden sand- 
     How few! yet how they creep 
     Through my fingers to the deep, 
     While I weep- while I weep! 
     O God! can I not grasp 
     Them with a tighter clasp? 
     O God! can I not save 
     One from the pitiless wave? 
     Is all that we see or seem 
     But a dream within a dream?