Pursue the thought further, still there’s likeness in each,
How constant our aim is at what we can’t reach.
E’en so in a dream, we’ve some object in view
Unceasingly aimed at, but the thing we pursue
Still eludes our fond grasp, and yet lures us on too.
How analagous this to our waking day hours,
Unwearied our efforts, we tax all our powers;
Betimes in the morning the prize we pursue,
By the pale lamp of midnight we’re seeking it too;
At all times and seasons, this same fancied good