poems.
13
Dreams are mental meteors,
Of the fitful brain, flashing athwart its
Ever busy surface, when reason sleeps.
And is this wond'rous working of the mind
Influenced by external circumstance?
When touched with Morpheus' wand, a change comes
Over us, and we gently pass from cold
Reality, to the strange but pleasing
Phantasies of ideality; and
Ofttimes, what most enchains the mind in
Waking hours, leaves its lurking place when sleep
Approaches, yielding its throne to scenes and
Beings that we scarcely dared to think of
When awake, fearing to indulge the soul
Too deeply in imagined pleasures, that
Sober reason tells us, ne'er will occur,
However much desired.
The intellect
Brooks no control; free as the mountain air
'T is ever on the wing, seeking something
New, felt, but undefined, as on it wends
Its trackless way, viewing with double ken
The airy phantoms, that in the mental
Atmosphere have their existence.
Of the fitful brain, flashing athwart its
Ever busy surface, when reason sleeps.
And is this wond'rous working of the mind
Influenced by external circumstance?
When touched with Morpheus' wand, a change comes
Over us, and we gently pass from cold
Reality, to the strange but pleasing
Phantasies of ideality; and
Ofttimes, what most enchains the mind in
Waking hours, leaves its lurking place when sleep
Approaches, yielding its throne to scenes and
Beings that we scarcely dared to think of
When awake, fearing to indulge the soul
Too deeply in imagined pleasures, that
Sober reason tells us, ne'er will occur,
However much desired.
The intellect
Brooks no control; free as the mountain air
'T is ever on the wing, seeking something
New, felt, but undefined, as on it wends
Its trackless way, viewing with double ken
The airy phantoms, that in the mental
Atmosphere have their existence.
