Illusions

I STOOPED to drink of Life’s enchanted stream, From fair green meads and flowery marge of youth, Athirst for love, for fame, and sight of truth, And, dreaming as I drank, all life did seem Fair as the pageant of a lover’s dream, That hides the grim and sordid world uncouth; Till Time and change came by that know not ruth, And grief was left to watch Hope’s flickering beam.

So from the bitter world I turned again, To work, to sleep; but as in sleep I lay, Truth touched me, and Hope said to me, “Arise!” Whom, waking, I beheld as visions vain As dream-beguiled one looks with clouded eyes Upon the breaking morn, nor knows it is the day.