Dreams Are Best

    I just think that dreams are best,
    Just to sit and fancy things;
    Give your gold no acid test,
    Try not how your silver rings;
    Fancy women pure and good,
    Fancy men upright and true:
    Fortressed in your solitude,
    Let Life be a dream to you.

    For I think that Thought is all;
    Truth's a minion of the mind;
    Love's ideal comes at call;
    As ye seek so shall ye find.
    But ye must not seek too far;
    Things are never what they seem:
    Let a star be just a star,
    And a woman - just a dream.

    O you Dreamers, proud and pure,
    You have gleaned the sweet of life!
    Golden truths that shall endure
    Over pain and doubt and strife.
    I would rather be a fool
    Living in my Paradise,
    Than the leader of a school,
    Sadly sane and weary wise.

    O you Cynics with your sneers,
    Fallen brains and hearts of brass,
    Tweak me by my foolish ears,
    Write me down a simple ass!
    I'll believe the real "you"
    Is the "you" without a taint;
    I'll believe each woman too,
    But a slightly damaged saint.

    Yes, I'll smoke my cigarette,
    Vestured in my garb of dreams,
    And I'll borrow no regret;
    All is gold that golden gleams.
    So I'll charm my solitude
    With the faith that Life is blest,
    Brave and noble, bright and good, . . .
    Oh, I think that dreams are best!

Robert William Service

Robert William Service was a British-Canadian poet and writer, often referred to as 'the Bard of the Yukon.' He is best known for his poems about the Canadian North, particularly the Yukon Territory. Service's works include 'The Shooting of Dan McGrew' and 'The Cremation of Sam McGee,' which have contributed significantly to Canadian literature. His vivid and robust storytelling style, often dramatic and humorous, captivated audiences and made him a prominent literary figure of his time.

Robert William Service

The Atavist

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

Premonition

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

A Domestic Tragedy

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

The Philanderer

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

English

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The Bohemian Dreams

Because my overcoat's in pawn,
I choose to take my glass
Within a little bistro on
The rue du Montparnasse;
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The counter's lined with zinc,
And there I sit and drink my wine,
And think and think and think.

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The World's All Right

        Be honest, kindly, simple, true;
        Seek good in all, scorn but pretence;
        Whatever sorrow come to you,
        Believe in Life's Beneficence!

    The World's all right; serene I sit,
    And cease to puzzle over it.
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    And in a million years or so
    We'll know more than to-day we know.
    Old Evolution's under way -
    What ho! the World's all right, I say.

    Could things be other than they are?
    All's in its place, from mote to star.
    The thistledown that flits and flies
    Could drift no hair-breadth otherwise.
    What is, must be; with rhythmic laws
    All Nature chimes, Effect and Cause.
    The sand-gra...

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Alciphron: A Fragment. Letter I.

FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT ATHENS.


Well may you wonder at my flight
    From those fair Gardens in whose bowers
Lingers whate'er of wise and bright,
Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light,
    Is left to grace this world of ours.
Well may my comrades as they roam
    On such sweet eyes as this inquire
Why I have left that happy home
    Where all is found that all desire,
    And Time hath wings that never tire:
Where bliss in all the countless shapes
    That Fancy's self to bliss hath given
Comes clustering round like roadside grapes
    That woo the traveller's lip at even;
Where Wisdom flings not joy away--
As Pallas in the stream they say
Once flung her flute--but smiling owns
That woman's lip can send forth tones
Wor...

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Dreams.

I.

The sweetest dreams, it seems to me, that we can ever know,
Are those the fancy brings to us of days of long-ago,
When rainbow-tinted pictures all are like a mirage flung
Upon the canvas memory weaves--of days when we were young.


II.

The step may falter, eye be dim--the brow may wrinkles wear,
And underneath the crumbling mould our friends be sleeping there--
But oh, these visions come to us as to the rose the dew,
And while with raptured gaze we look the heart seems ever new.


III.

Oh, when perhaps at last we're left a laggard on life's stage,
This is the mellowed draught we quaff our longings to assuage--
As sweet as that from Paradise the smiling Houris hand
The Prophet's faithful followers when at its gates they stand!

George W. Doneghy

Dreams

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be, that dream eternally
Continuing, as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood, should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness, have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
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