Talk no more
Of thee and me, the future and the past..
Earth and Ocean, Space, and the isles of life or light that gem
The sapphire floods of interstellar air,
This firmament pavilioned upon chaos..
This whole, Of suns and worlds, and men and beasts, and flowers
With all the violent and tempestuous workings
By which they have been, are, or cease to be,
Is but a vision: all that it inherits are motes of a sick eye,
Bubbles and dreams; thought is its cradle and its grave, nor less
the future and the past are idle shadows
Of thoughts eternal flight, they have no being.
Nought is but that it feels to be.