The Dream Called Life
From the Spanish of Pedro Calderon de la Barca
A dream it was in which I found myself.And you that hail me now, then hailed me king,In a brave palace that was all my own,Within, and all without it, mine; until,Drunk with excess of majesty and pride,Methought I towered so big and swelled so wideThat of myself I burst the glittering bubbleWhich my ambition had about me blown,And all again was darkness. Such a dreamAs this, in which I may be walking now,Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows,Who make believe to listen; but anonKings, princes, captains, warriors, plume and steel,Aye, even with all your airy theatre,May flit into the air you seem to rendWith acclamations, leaving me to wakeIn the dark tower; or dreaming that I wakeFrom this that waking is; or this and that,Both waking and both dreaming; such a doubtConfounds and clouds our moral life about.But whether wake or dreaming, this I know,How dreamwise human glories come and go;Whose momentary tenure not to break,Walking as one who knows he soon may wake,So fairly carry the full cup, so wellDisordered insolence and passion quell,That there be nothing after to upbraidDreamer or doer in the part he played;Whether tomorrow's dawn shall break the spell,Or the last trumpet of the Eternal Day,When dreaming, with the night, shall pass away.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.