Thomas Hardy
The Dream-Follower
A dream of mine flew over the mead
        To the halls where my old Love reigns;
And it drew me on to follow its lead:
        And I stood at her window-panes;

And I saw but a thing of flesh and bone
        Speeding on to its cleft in the clay;
And my dream was scared, and expired on a moan,
        And I whitely hastened away.