The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!
So softly death succeeded life in her, She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes; When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
My whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship.
Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes... Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
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