Her name is sorrow, which I whisper in fragmentary dreams.
Dreams of her are fragmentary when I wake to find my dreams
Are dreams; sadly, only dreams—
Nothing but fragmentary dreams—dreams of dreams,
Dreams dreams are dreaming; so fragmentary, she is not even real in dreams, unreal
Even in dreams, in vivid dreams that are almost life, so real these dreams,
Even in dreams as real as this, she is not real in the most fragmentary dream that seems.
She doesn’t want to be real for me, she is unreal even in the sweet reality of dreams.
She reviles me with such surety, because in life I included her in schemes.
She refuses even to seem as she seems to appear in dreams.