Sylvie And Bruno

Lewis Carroll

Is all our Life, then but a dream

Seen faintly in the goldern gleam

Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?

Bowed to the earth with bitter woe

Or laughing at some raree-show

We flutter idly to and fro.

Man's little Day in haste we spend,

And, from its merry noontide, send

No glance to meet the silent end.

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