Where is that World to which the fancy flies
When sleep excludes the Present from our eyes;
Whose map no voyager could e'er design,
Nor to description its wild parts confine?
Yet such a Land of Dreams, we must allow,
Who nightly trace it, though we know not how:
Unfetter'd by the days obtruded rules.
We all enjoy that Paradise of fools;
And find a sorrow in resuming sense,
Which breaks some free delight, and snatches us from thence..mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}10