Wakeful Sleep

Cold calls and sweeps those sleeping

For in wakeful sleep do I lay dreaming

The art of living

The art of dying

Has hope of being now so clear.

Call forth my dreams and seek the seeker,

For I, in wakeful sleep

Do dream of those men weaker

Who by will and furled brow

Fail to answer the question: How?

Words, a cry in the dark

Mean less than a morning's lark

For in wakeful sleep one may dream,

Of the sun's life shining

In all its sheen.

Winter's maiden does call to me;

A promise of wakeful sleep,

To set me free

And in sleeping awake I now know

All that I might say is gone,

Now I can only show.

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