For my own part
I have never had a thought
Which I could not set down in words
with even more distinctness
Than that with which I conceived it
There is however, a class of fancies
Of exquisite delicacy
Which are not thoughts
And to which as yet I have found it
Absolutely impossible to adapt to language
These fancies arise in the soul
Alas how rarely
Only at epochs of most intense tranquility
When the ****** and mental health are in perfection
And at those mere points of time
Where the confines of the waking world
Blend with the world of dreams
And so I captured this fancy
Where all that we see or seem is but
A Dream Within A Dream