Dreams poems

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Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window.
There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling than a window lighted by a single candle.
What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind a windowpane.
In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.

Summer Afternoon (Bodiam Castle, Sussex)

© Edith Wharton

And this was thine: to lose thyself in me,
Relive in my renewal, and become
The light of other lives, a quenchless torch
Passed on from hand to hand, till men are dust
And the last garland withers from my shrine.

Lament.

© Arthur Henry Adams

PEACE, your little child is dead:
Peace, I cannot weep with you;
I have no more tears to shed;
I have mourned my baby too

The Singing Of The Magnificat

© Edith Nesbit

IN midst of wide green pasture-lands, cut through
By lines of alders bordering deep-banked streams,
Where bulrushes and yellow iris grew,
And rest and peace, and all the flowers of dreams,
The Abbey stood--so still, it seemed a part
Of the marsh-country's almost pulseless heart.

Love and Honor

© William Shenstone

Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra

Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,

The Disciple

© George MacDonald

The times are changed, and gone the day
When the high heavenly land,
Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,
And men could understand.

Professor Noctutus

© George MacDonald

Nobody knows the world but me.
The rest go to bed; I sit up and see.
I'm a better observer than any of you all,
For I never look out till the twilight fall,
And never then without green glasses,
And that is how my wisdom passes.

The Child Asleep. (From The French)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.