The speaker looks back at his youth as a deep, dark tide of pride—a murky blend of mystery and dream. That early dream was filled with an intense awareness of presences, beings he never truly saw, but which troubled him. He wishes he had let them drift past without fixing his dreaming eye on them. Now, he refuses to let anyone else inherit that haunting inner vision. He wants to control those thoughts, treating them like a spell he can impose on his own soul. The bright hope he once held, that lighter time, has vanished. His worldly peace slipped away with a sigh, and he no longer cares if it all perishes along with whatever he once cherished. The mood is one of brooding regret and eerie detachment—a man locking away painful memories behind a cold, resolute indifference.
Imitation — Summary
A dark unfathomed tide Of interminable pride-- A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen, Had I let them pass me by, With a dreaming eye! Let none of earth inherit That vision on my spirit; Those thoughts I would control, As a spell upon his soul: For that bright hope at last And that light time have past, And my wordly rest hath gone With a sigh as it passed on: I care not though it perish With a thought I then did cherish.