E os sonhos ainda são de graça!!!!

Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world.
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of Joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off our waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like hearlds of Eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past, --- they speak
Like Sibyls of the future; they have power ---
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not --- what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanish'd shadows --- Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? --- What are they?
Creations of the mind? --- The mind can make
Substance, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dream'd
Perchance in sleep --- for, in itself, a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.

Lord Byron, 'The Dream' (I parte)