John Banister Tabb



At The Year's End

by John Banister Tabb

Night dreams of day, and winter seems
In sleep to breathe the balm of May.
Their dreams are true anon; but they,
The dreamers, then, alas, are dreams.

Thus, while our days the dreams renew
Of some forgotten sleeper, we,
The dreamers of futurity,
Shall vanish when our own are true.


Copyright 1894
John Lane, LondonCopeland and Day, Boston