Of late some dreams haunt the sleep
As ruins by some obstinate ghosts
Through the cobwebbed crevices who peep
And flicker like shadows around lamp posts.
Of frail promises of future, they haunt
As past days relived in a better way
And attainment of an insatiable want
And change misery to a prosperous day.
Like the early spring blossoms of peach
Our dreams emerge from the dark and cold
Some eager eyes from beneath beseech
To pull off the dark and such like fold.
Alas! but these Morpheus’ creations
Are too frail are too weak
The ways that lead to no stations
Traveler, wherefore such things you seek?
Of course do our little dreams start
Like a little trickle of a little stream
That grows on with every beat of heart
And again ends, again in a dream.