"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
(Prospero: The Tempest, Act 4, Scene 1)
What lessons will my visions teach?
A lover's eyes...A foe's revenge...
A fall from which I can't ascend.
A memory so sharp and clear
Its trace shall never disappear;
A terror of the greatest size
It makes me open up my eyes--quite wide!
And whether not I smile, or scream, or weep;
I'm always drawn back to the realm of Sleep--
The mistress of my sacred brain
Without her I would go insane!
Alas, she is the potion of my rest
For good or ill, am I dually blest.