In days to come I write of hope,
I write of beaming white.
I scrawl of joy and scribble truth,
and smiling, sweet aloof.
In times of dreams I hold a hand,
warm coursing youth unmarred;
I hold an orb in fingers gold
and clutch the silver fold.
In dreams of bright I dance alive,
I move with perfect grace;
We dance together, in this light-
red-cheeked and blissful you.
In future years I rest serene,
a calm and withered soul.
I bed my jagged, sick-scarred limbs
and dream of times of old.
But for now I twitch with sad regret,
I pulse with horrid discontent.
Full knowing past dissolved to be-
and dreams of youth are rent.