Hung and hollowed for me alone!
Is it a dream, or can it be
That there is life apart from me?—
A larger world than the circling bound
Of light and color that lap me round?
Drowsily, dully, through my brain,
Like some recurrent, vague refrain,
A world of fancy comes and goes—
Shadowy pleasures, shadowy woes.
Spectral toils and troubles seem