The Dream by Jorge Luis Borges
While the clocks of midnight hours are squandering
an abundance of time,
I shall go, farther than the shipmates of Ulysses
to the territory of dream, beyond the reach
of human memory.
From the that underwater world I save some fragments,
inexhaustible to my understanding:
grasses from some primitive botany,
animals of all kinds,
conversations with the dead,
faces which all the time are masks,
words out of very ancient languages,
and at times, horror, unlike anything
the day can offer us.
I shall be all or no one. I shall be the other
I am without knowing it, he who has looked on
that other dream, my waking state. He weighs it up,
resigned and smiling.