Awakened I with some slight im-
perfection rent from Sleep's sweet shadow realm,
haloed 'round with vision, song, and storm, and him,
smoky, bright Morpheus, sand, and cloak, and helm.
Prophetic cries burst from him of fancy and dread,
graven portentious dream things of sleep and rest!:
"Wake ye not, die ye not, for the middle places are the bed
of human want and human need. 'tis best
to 'void low depths. Sleep's realm has idylls vast.
Soporific veils may cast on thy soul
a pallor which life nary at first hast,
but this pallor's peace make thee at last whole.
Find in my dream palace your own wide berth,
create for thee thy own true human worth."
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