I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!
Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream, A blissful certainty, a vision bright, Of that rare happiness, which even on earth Heaven gives to those it loves.
We are near waking when we dream we are dreaming.
I woke at intervals until . . . the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not.
Hope is the pillar that holds up the world. Hope is the dream of a waking man.
I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. Are we not always living the life that we imagine we are?
In some parts of Ireland the sleep which knows no waking is always followed by a wake which knows no sleeping.