Текст оригинала на английском языке
Ghosts of Dreams
WE are all of us dreamers of dreams, On visions our childhood is fed; And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems, By ghosts of dreams that are dead. From childhood to youth's but a span, And the years of our life are soon sped; But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man, When the first of his dreams is dead. 'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall, When the doom of a great man is said; And the best of a man is under a pall When the best of his dreams is dead. He may live on by compact and plan When the fine bloom of living is shed, But God pity the little that's left of a man When most of his dreams are dead. Let him show a brave face if he can; Let him woo fame and fortune instead; Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man When the last of his dreams is dead.
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