In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.

Land of lost gods and godlike men.

My native land, good night!

Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.

From the mingled strength of shade and light A new creation rises to my sight, Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with light his blended colors glow. . . . . The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.