Dreamed recurrently from c. 1860 on, by George B. Burgin (b.1856)
From my earliest childhood, my dreams have been about flying. Whenever I was, or am, worried, or greatly pleased, this dream recurs. I build a flying machine of my own invention, make wings fastened with something more durable than wax, and have surprising adventures in procuring the materials to fasten this machine to me.
It always assumes the shape of a swallow-tailed butterfly; and I start gaily off, visiting all sorts of wondrous places, and I am always, or nearly always, invisible to the human eye.
But once a blind man heard my whirring wings, stretched forth a gnarled and knotted hand, and crushed my throat in. Just as I was on the point of giving up the ghost, I fell to the ground, felt a sharp pain, and woke to find a small brother dancing round me and gleefully shouting, "I've got him by the toe in my steel bird-trap!"
account from The Dream World (Ed. R.L. Megroz, 1939)
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