The heart bowed down by weight of woe

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs at my side.

The light of other days is faded, And all their glories past.

But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you lov'd me still the same.

Vermouth always makes me brilliant unless it makes me idiotic, but we'll hope for the best.

Thy soft-breathed hopes with magic might Have chased from my soul the shades of night

It may be we shall know in the hereafter Why we, begetting hopes, give birth to fears, And why the world's too beautiful for laughter, Too gross for tears.