Shall I tell you of my old, old dreams 
Lost at the earth's strange turnings, 
Some in the sea when the waves foamed high, 
Some in a garret candle's burnings? 

Shall I tell you of bitter, forgotten dreams — 
You who are still so young, so young? 
You with your wide brown singing eyes 
And laughter at the tip of your tongue. 

Shall I tell you of weary, weary dreams, — 
You who have lost no dreams at all, 
Or shall I keep quiet and let turn 
My ugly pictures to the wall?

(first published in Palms, 1926)