DAY-DREAM.

Here, in the heart of the hills, I lie, Nothing but me 'twixt earth and sky— An amethyst and an emerald stone Hung and hollowed for me alone! Is it a dream, or can it be That there is life apart from me?— A larger world than the circling bound Of light and color that lap me round? Drowsily, dully, through my brain, Like some recurrent, vague refrain, A world of fancy comes and goes— Shadowy pleasures, shadowy woes. Spectral toils and troubles seem Fashioned out of this foolish dream: Round my charmèd quiet creep Phantom creatures that laugh and weep. Nay, I know they are meaningless, Visions of utter idleness: Nothing was, nor ever will be, Save the hills and the heavens and me.