The edge of the green wave whitely doth hiss
Upon the wetted sand. I look, yet dream.
Surely reality cannot be this!
Somehow, somewhere this surely doth but seem!
The sky, the sea, this great extent disclosed
Of outward joy, this bulk of life we feel,
Is not something, but something interposed.
Only what in this is not this is real.
If this be to have sense, if to be awake
Be but to see this bright, great sleep of things,
For the rarer potion mine own dreams I’ll take
And for truth commune with imaginings,
Holding a dream too bitter, a too fair curse,
This common sleep of men, the universe.


PHOTO CREDIT : ELIAS MAURER

 

Affiliate Disclosure: Some of the links or advertisements in the wordket website are affiliate links or advertisements, meaning, at no additional cost to you. We will earn a commission, if you click through and make a purchase. Thank you 🙂

Leave a Reply

You May Also Like
Read More

The Spiritual Cat

When the spiritual teacher and his disciples began their evening meditation, the cat who lived in the monastery…
Read More

Hollows

My love, and not I, is the egoist. My love for thee loves itself more than thee; Ay,…
Read More

Unmask

How many masks wear we, and undermasks, Upon our countenance of soul, and when, If for self-sport the…
Read More

Conversation

Where words shrink mere devices of exchange Where gestures go vain meaningless move of muscles Where it’s eyes…
Read More

Big Bang

Something in me was born before the stars And saw the sun begin from far away. Our yellow,…
Read More

Conscience

Two traveling monks reached a river where they met a young woman. Wary of the current, she asked…