I woke at midnight from a pleasant dream
Where I was not myself in all but mind;
When, grafted to a far more fruitful tree,
My branching spirit found its peace in life; 
I’ve spent the night in contemplative thought.

About a perfect form we, each, have dreamt 
A shining visage, that’s what I’ve been taught;
A palace, drawn and built to be well kempt 
Then laid with marble floors, and walls of gold;
We’re told this is a dream we cannot live.

So should I be content and make the most
Of what I’ve got, and what I have to give?
It does no good to want, to dwell upon 
The verdant meadow grasses of my dreams.

I did not choose to be this way in life.
My mind is just its own at times it seems;
I yearn for gold and marble in my dreams.