Pondering, In the Light of Frozen Stars

What be there if there be not a dream

But clouds of pale grey and death of soul

Gentle light, enough on which to feed

But not enough to keep the body whole

Transgressing from the dark into the flame

That absent sweep of light which doth not burn

Raise a weary hand across its name

To dream of things we haven’t even learned

Like frozen snows that wan against desire

The sleeper blushes forth as winter’s rose

To dream a dream within another dream

Before the hour of death comes to its close

Ah praise ye then, for death has lost its sting

But nothing though if there be not a dream.