When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
  Extend not your anger to sleep;
For in visions alone your affection can live;
  I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
  Shed o'er me your languor benign;
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
  What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,
  Mortality's emblem is given;
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,
  If this be a foretaste of Heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,
  Nor deem me too happy in this;
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
  Thus doom'd, but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,
  Oh! think not my penance deficient;
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile
  To awake, will be torture sufficient.