Or

was it sunset on a Scottish moore
with tints of Spanish red?
And another life bled dry
by tons of eeled absence.

We were there, remember?
Beside a thousand loves
outlasting time and age,
with all those wrecks

and beckoning sirens.
O truth-the-wooer
wooing me away
from all this trueness.

"...I was so drawn from random thought
to thought that, wandering in mind, I shut
my eyes, transforming thought on thought to dream

...and when this image shattered of itself
just like a bubble that has lost the water
beneath which it was formed

...so my imagination fell away"

(Dante)