The deepest dream is of mad governors, <br />Down, down we feel it, till the very crust <br />Of the world cracks, and where there was no dust, <br />Atoms of ruin rise. Confusion stirs, <br />And fear; and all our thoughts--dark scavengers-- <br />Feed on the center's refuse. Hope is thrust <br />Like wind away, and love sinks into lust <br />For merest safety, meanest of levelers. <br /> <br />And then we wake. Or do we? Sleep endures <br />More than the morning can, when shadows lie <br />Sharper than mountains, and the cleft is real <br />Between us and our kings. What sun assures <br />Our courage, and what evening by and by <br />Descends to rest us, and perhaps to heal?<br /><br />Mark Van Doren<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-deepest-dream/
