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Poem	With beating heart and lagging feet, Lord, I approach the Judgment-seat. All bring hither the fruits of toil, Measures of wheat and measures of oil; Gold and jewels and precious wine; No hands bare like these hands of mine. The treasure I have nor weighs nor gleams: Lord, I can bring you only dreams. In days of spring, when my blood ran high, I lay in the grass and looked at the sky, And dreamed that my love lay by my side-- My love was false, and then she died. All the heat of the summer through, I dreamed she lived, that her heart was true Throughout the hours of the day I slept, But woke in the night, at times, and wept. The nights and days, they went and came, I lay in shadow and dreamed of fame; And heard men passing the lonely place, Who marked me not and my hidden face. My strength waxed faint, my hair grew grey; Nothing but dreams by night and day. Some men sicken, with wine and food; I starved on dreams, and found them good.
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