And gold that never brings content;

The student's a dull dream of pain,

'Midst mouldered books and hours misspent.

The lover in his airy hall

Has joy-dreams ever in his view,

And, though the falsest of them all,

His dream perhaps is sweetest too.

The poet's dream 's a dream of dreams,

Of phantoms seen and passed away,

Like dancing moats in sunny beams