All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry: 'Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry: 'Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry

All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light