Cxxvi

Enough o' the dream! You see how poetry turns prose. Announcing wonder-work, I dwindle at the close Down to mere commonplace old facts which everybody knows. So dreaming disappoints! The fresh and strange at first, Soon wears to trite and tame, nor warrants the outburst Of heart with which we hail those heights, at very brink Of heaven, whereto one least of lifts would lead, we think, But wherefrom quick decline conducts our step, we find, To homely earth, old facts familiar left behind. Did not this monument, for instance, long ago Say all it had to say, show all it had to show, Nor promise to do duty more in dream?