The sulky sage scarce condescends to see
This pretty world of sun and grass and leaves;
To him 'tis all illusion--only he
Is real amid the visions he perceives.

No sage am I, and yet, by Love's decree,
To me the world's a masque of shadows too,
And I a shadow also--since to me
The only real thing in life is--you.

More verses by Edith Nesbit