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Show MY DAY OF LIFE By Ambrose Bierce. I know not how it is it seems Fantastic and surprising That after all these dreams and dreams, Here in the sun's first level beams, The sun is still just rising! When first he showed his sovereign face. And bade the night-folk scuttle Back to their holes, I took any place Here on the hill, and God His grace Sent slumber soft and subtle. Among the poppies red and white, I've lain and drowsed, for all it Appears a sluggardly delight. I must have had a wakeful night, Though, faith, I don't recall it. And, O I've dreamed so many things! One hardly can unravel The tangled web of visionings That slumber-of-the morning brings: Play, study, work and travel; The love of women (mostly those Were fairest that were newest) ; Hard knocks from friends and other foes: Compacts with men (my memory shows The deadest are the truest); War what a hero I became By merely dreaming battle! Athwart the field of letters, Fame Blared through the brass my weary name With an ominous deathrattle. Such an eternity of thought Within a minute's fraction! Such phantoms out of nothing wrought, And fading suddenly to naught As I awake to action! They scamper each into its hole, These dreams of my begetting. They've had their moment; take, my soul, Thy day of life. . . Gods! this is droll i That thieving sun is "setting"! |