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Most dreams are like the tide upon the beachRolling the baseless pebbles, till their placeIs changed and changed again, beyond the reachOf the best waking memory to retraceThe loose and helpless motion; these, and thoseThat stand like rocks, engraved with name and date,And cognizable words of coming fate,What mean they? who among our schoolmen knows?What means this double power to rave and teach?This common fund of toys and verities?Of dooming oracles and foolish cries?Now kept apart, now blending each with each --Abortive interests, and unreal ties,And prophecies no daylight can impeach!

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)