THE BROKER OF DREAMS

Bring not your dreams to me —

Blown dust, and vapour, and the running stream —

Saying, “He, too, doth dream,

Touched of the moon.”

Nay! wouldst thou vanish see

Thy darling phantoms,

Bring them then to me!

For my hard business — though so soft it seems —

Was ever dreams and dreams.

And as some stern-eyed broker smiles disdain,

Valuing at nought

Her bosom's locket, with its little chain,

Love's all that Love hath brought;

So must I weigh and measure

Thy fading treasure,

Sighing to see it go

As surely as the snow.

For I have such sad knowledge of all things

That shine like dew a little, all that sings

And ends its song in weeping —

Such sowing and such reaping!—

There is no cure but sleeping.