Stage Of Dreams Poem by Cúcídh Mac Cuagh

This plain on which we stand is but a Stage of Dreams;
We play out aspiring thoughts to an audience that seems
Captured, dumb without an aside or candid soliloquy,
A distracted thought, in full mind, that will away again from me!
The silver moonlight shining through the splendid summer mist,
Gently warming, purifying a so fair maiden missed.
The great sun’s illuminating your fine splendent skin,
And I against all other men hoping your hart to win:
The most exalted and beautified.
Reticent to all other goals and laconic to all o’th’fools,
But to stand aloof from my hand- Swounds! and I unload,
My unmerciful, rash and impetuous moods. Soft;
To th’purpose: an inch thick was Yorick’s command,
“Without it, ” said I was a maundering demand. And
How, O how you looked then can compare to n’other time;
But the next I prophesy will be better than the last:
The most exalted and beautified.
Undulating sanity like the ‘scape of our home,
Cannot I say, but it does, keep me company when alone.
On the wings when I ope’ my hart you should be th’only one there:
The most exalted and beautified to whom nobody can compare.
Whether suffering alone is the noble thing to do,
O thou great oak, incessantly I confide in you.
Polemically fused in a myriad of thoughts, glances and actions,
Hereafter being my muse, false love being o’th’faction.
The Stage of Dreams holds our love once more,
Will we meet again my love? in the real world, not Elsinore.
Upon’t we do majestically flit ’tween the forest and the river,
Moreover, thence to being in love I hope not to dissever.
The Stage of Dreams holds our love once more,
The most exalted and beautified: entwines this heart with lore.
But on’t I would die for you, I did and will again,
So wouldst thou go unto my dreams, perchance I’ll dream again.