Dreams Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

A dream - mysterious word, a dream!
What joys and sorrows are enshrined
In those dark hours we fondly deem
A playtime for the truant mind:

It is a happy thing to dream
When rosy thoughts and visions bright
Pour on the soul a golden stream
Of rich luxurious delight;

It is a weary thing to dream,
When from the hot and aching brain
As from a boiling caldron steam
The myriad forms in fancy's train;

It is a curious thing to dream,
When shapes grotesque of all quaint things
Like laughing water-witches seem
To sport in reason's turbid springs;

It is a glorious thing to dream,
When full of wings and full of eyes
Borne on the whirlwind or sunbeam
We race along the startled skies;

It is a wondrous thing to dream
Of tumbling with a fearful shock
From some tall cliff where eagles scream,
-To light upon a feather rock;

It is a terrible thing to dream
Of strangled throats, and heart-blood spilt,
And ghosts that in the darkness gleam,
And horrid eyes of midnight guilt :-

Who shall tell me what I dream?
Ages lingering in a night,-
Thronging thoughts of things that teem
With wonder, terror, and delight!