Dreams

We dream toward morning. Then the busy day
Athwart the marble portals of our sleep
Flings shades that ape her solids. Forms are they
That buy and sell, chaffer and laugh, or weep.

There is a last awakening. Toward life's end
We dream of Heaven. Then walk through all our fears
Shapes real and gracious. What should these portend
That strike such rainbow-triumphs from our tears?
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