Perhaps Endless, Perhaps Not

When is it, that the fog should clear?
The world speaks humble
To the future so dear.

To the future so dear,
Should the silence hence mumble
And itself not fear?

And itself not fear,
Says the dream who'd tumble
To the future so dear!

To the future so clear,
Go the toasts drunks grumble;
When is it, that the fog should clear?