In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part.
Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part. To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird.
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