My night-time dreams, an off-worldly spectator might consider, are always of some ineffective hope - a desperate journey or striving left unsatisfied by the unforgiving realisation of dawn.

I feel perhaps these are the dreams of all young men freshly removed from the turnstiles of education; the pink deep clouds of solace belong to a time now forever past.

O! to sleep idly within that cot of feathers: a child I ought to be!