NOT drowsihood and dreams and mere idless, <br />Nor yet the blessedness of strength regained, <br />Alone are in what men call sleep. The past, <br />My unsuspected soul, my parents’ voice, <br />The generations of my forbears, yea, <br />The very will of God himself are there <br />And potent-working: so that many a doubt <br />Is wiped away at daylight, many a soil <br />Washed cleanlier, many a puzzle riddled plain. <br />Strong, silent forces push my puny self <br />Towards unguessed issues, and the waking man <br />Rises a Greatheart where a Slave lay down.<br /><br />Richard Francis Burton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-sleep/
