Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death
The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.