It is true, so: let's suppress
This fierce condition,
This fury, this ambition,
For if at some time we dream.
And yes we will do, since we are
In so singular world,
That to live only is to dream;
And the experience teaches me,
That the man who lives, dreams
What is, up to waking up.
There dreams the king who is a king, and lives
With this deception giving the orders,
Having and governing;
And this plaudit, which receives
Given, in the wind he writes
And into ashes it turns him
The death (strong misery!):
That exists the one who tries to reign
Seeing that has to wake up
In the dream of the death!
It dreams the rich one in his wealth,
That more elegant offers him;
It dreams the poor person that he suffers
His misery and his poverty;
It dreams the one that to growing it begins,
It dreams the one that it presses and claims,
It dreams the one that offends and offends,
And in the world, in conclusion,
They all dream what they are,
Though none understands it.
I dream that I am here,
Destas prisons loaded;
And I dreamed that in another condition
More flattering I met.
What is the life? A frenzy.
What is the life? An illusion,
A shade, a fiction,
And the major good is small;
That the whole life is a dream,
And THE DREAMS, DREAMS ARE.
