He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,


Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,



I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)


Is it a cliche to love this poem? Don't care. I love it.