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 countless¹, careless, races of the dead. Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread, And one beholds² 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 fragrant³ fleeting⁴ waters rosy⁵ pale.