Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
The Stade, Folkestone, Kent, CT19
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
Spring Gardens, Coding Street, Vauxhall, Lambeth, SE11
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
Church of St John-at-Hackney, Lower Clapton Road, Hackney, E5
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
Brentford, Middlesex, TW8
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
Dawlish, Devon, EX7
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past -they speak
Cleopatra's Needle, Embankment, Westminster, WC2N
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
RAF War Memorial, Embankment, Westminster, WC2N
They make us what we were not -what they will,
And shake us with the vision that’s gone by,
George Blackall Simonds' Maiwand Lion, Forbury Gardens, Reading, Berkshire, RG1
The dread of vanished shadows -Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? -What are they?
From Lord Byron’s The Dream (1816)
