If you can dream And not make dreams your master If you can think And not make intellect your game If you can meet With triumph and disaster And treat those two impostors just the same
Last Edit: Aug 8, 2007 21:25:33 GMT -5 by Cherubiel
I had drifted o'er seas without ending, Under sinister grey-clouded skies, That the many-forked lightning is rending, That resound with hysterical cries; With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.