A Lament

O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees. -
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone. -
But well for him whose feet hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life
Builds ladders to be nearer God.

by Oscar Wilde

Comments (21)

Profound, In two lines you said every possible thing about dream...
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Dream a nice poem in very limited lines and interested.
It seems quite straightforward to me. Why Straw et al want to stand it on it's head I don't know. Just contrariness, perhaps. Dreams are mostly a side-effect of internal housekeeping of the brain, to do with transferring memories from short-term to long-term storage etc. They don't usually make sense, though this is an over-simplification.
What is a dream? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
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