Of many waters breaking on the shore:
"All hail! great Chakravartin, king of kings!
Hail! king of righteousness! Hail! prince of peace!"

Strange dreams! Where is their birthplace--where their home?
Lighter than foam upon the crested wave,
Fleeter than shadows of the passing cloud,
They are of such fantastic substance made
That quick as thought they change their fickle forms--
Now grander than the waking vision views,
Now stranger than the wildest fancy feigns,
And now so grim and terrible they start
The hardened conscience from its guilty sleep.
In troops they come, trooping they fly away,
Waved into being by the magic wand
Of some deep purpose of the inmost soul,
Some hidden joy or sorrow, guilt or fear--
Or better, as the wise of old believed,
Called into being by some heavenly guest
To soothe, to warn, instruct or terrify.

Strange dreams by night and troubled thoughts by day
Disturb the prince and banish quiet sleep.
He dreamed that darkness, visible and dense,
Shrouded the heavens and brooded o'er the earth,
Whose rayless, formless, vacant nothingness
Curdled his blood and made his eyeballs ache;
When suddenly from out this empty void
A cloud, shining with golden light, was borne
By gentle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes,