Two diverse gates there are of bodiless dreams, These of sawn ivory, and those of horn. Such dreams as issue where the ivory gleams Fly without fate, and turn our hopes to scorn. But dreams which issue through the burnished horn, What man soe'er beholds them on his bed, These work with virtue and of truth are born.
To heal divisions, to relieve the oppress'd, In virtue rich; in blessing others, bless'd.
And Heaven, that every virtue bears in mind, E'en to the ashes of the just is kind.
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