What is imagination, that it should make me so wasteful?
We cast away priceless time in dreams,
Born of imagination, fed upon illusion, and put to death by reality.
How many lives this illusive creature has.
We create him through ecstatic joy, morbid loneliness, through more pensive thought.
We nourish him, we glorify him, we build him, we add to him to make him strong.
We place him on a pedestal with a heavenly light upon his innocent head.
Then we crush him with a change of thought,
But he will be born again.