What is the World?

Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep,     And life but a sleeping and dreaming?     Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap     The blooms of harmonious seeming;     The dream-flow'rs of hope and of freedom, perchance,     The rich are so merrily reaping;--     In Love's eyes I'd fancy the joy of romance;     No more would I dream Love is weeping.     Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball,     Where everyone goes who is able?     I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall     With savory share at the table.     I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good,     A morsel both dainty and healthy;     I have in my body the same sort of blood     That flows in the veins of the wealthy.     A garden you say is the world, where abound     The sweetest and loveliest roses?     Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around     And gather me handfuls of posies.     Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath;     (Of flowers I am very much fonder).     And with my beloved the bowers beneath     I'd wander, and wander, and wander.     But ah! if the world is a battlefield wild,     Where struggle the weak with the stronger,     Then heed I no storm and no wife and no child!--     I stand in abeyance no longer;--     Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield,     And fight for my perishing brother;     Well, if I am struck--I can die on the field;     Die gladly as well as another....