Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.”
-Excerpt from La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats
• • • • • • •
They go far to define life’s ongoing plight, mine that is, when juxtaposed with the lines found preceding. It makes one wish to sleep to dream again.
Life will be utterly made when I’m waking to dream again.