Bliss and dreams

Blissis to do nothingon a sunday afternoonwatching clouds moveleaves wavingpaper flappinga plane glides througha fig incense burningmy favorite song playingbook open and unread?Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow?What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the PsalmistTell me not, in mournful numbers,"Life is but an empty dream!"For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not its goal;"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"Was not spoken of the soul.Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,Is our destined end or way;But to act to each to-morrowFinds us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle,In the bivouac of Life,Be not like dumb, driven cattle!Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!Let the dead Past bury its dead!Act,--act in the living Present!Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o'er life's solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing,With a heart for any fate;Still achieving, still pursuingLearn to labor and to wait.