Stone

He dreamed he was a little stone
that gave reflected light,
and sweetly all his facets shone
to all the world's delight.

The little stone, the little box
they kept him in was clear,
and how they all observed the rocks
at every time of year.

They called him little pretty thing,
and how his fears did shrink.
And there affixed upon a ring
he needn't ever think.

How safe, how very peaceful did
the little stone then feel!
With all exposed and nothing hid,
he longed to think it real.

But bitter wake the sweetest dreams,
as surely this one did,
for moonlight's shining golden beams
can never keep life hid.

The morning, how it woke him rude,
and he began to weep!
Against himself in purest feud,
he spoke to fickle Sleep:

"Cruel dream, oh why entice me so
with things that cannot be?
A life so hard, and all I know
tossed bubbles in the sea!

Impossible is all I wish,
I'd be what I am not:
a stone, a dance, a pretty fish,
and all the things forgot.

You dream, you seem to make me stone
but cannot make it real;
if only you could numb my bones
so I could never feel!"

He dreamed he was a little stone
that gave reflected light,
and sweetly all his facets shone
to all the world's delight.