Classic Poem

Can one tear dreams in two, as though each were
A flower to unpetal, let it go
To the next wind, for a small while to stir
In a small pomp, and be dispersed? I know
A flower can so be dealt with — but a dream?
Yes, to a crocus this can well be done,
Or to a ship, a grave. Yet still a dream
Outwears the earth, outlives the racing sun.
Oh, by a dream, I am grown different;
A fairer thing for any house to hold;
Part of the texture of the common lot;
Higher than griefs or spheres by what I spent;
By what I lost, beyond all growing old; —
The dream that you were true, though you were not.