HE spake not truth, however wise, who said That happy, and that hapless men in sleep Have equal fortune, fallen from care as deep As countless, careless, races of the dead. Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread, And one beholds the faces that he sighs In vain to bring before his daylit eyes, And waking, he remembers on his bed；And one with fainting heart and feeble hand Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land, Where strength and courage were of no avail； And one is borne on fairy breezes far To the bright harbours of a golden star Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale.