Death is one dream out of another flowing.
Time is a dream ... a destroying dream; It lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas; It covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls.
Death is never an ending, death is a change; Death is beautiful, for death is strange; Death is one dream out of another flowing.
The wind shrieks, the wind grieves; It dashes the leaves on walls, it whirls then again; And the enormous sleeper vaguely and stupidly dreams And desires to stir, to resist a ghost of pain.
The wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams, the eternal asker of answers, stands in the street, and lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The one you love leans forward, smiles, deceives you, Opens a door through which you see dark dreams.