February 2013 - page 2

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,

Was but a dream; and now I wake

Exceeding  comfortless, and worn, and old,

For a dream’s sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,

A weeping willow in a lake;

I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt

For a dream’s sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;

My silent heart, lie still and break:

Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed

For a dream’s sake.

Mirage

Charles Conder (1889)