Is there no voice in the world to come crying, "New dreams for old! New for old!"? Many have long in my heart been lying, Faded, weary, and cold. All of them, all, would I give for a new one. (Is there no seeker Of dreams that were?) Nor would I ask if the new were a true one: Only for new dreams! New for old!
For I am here, half way of my journey, Here with the old! All so old! And the best heart with death is at tourney, If naught new it is told. Will there no voice, then, come — or a vision — Come with the beauty That ever blows Out of the lands that are called Elysian? I must have new dreams! New for old!