Dreams all too brief,
 Dreams without grief,
 Once they are broken, come not again.

 Across the sky the dark clouds sweep,
 And all is dark and drear above:
 The bare trees toss their arms and weep,
 Rest on, and do not wake, dear Love.

 Since glad dreams haunt your slumbers deep,
 Why should you scatter them in vain?

 Happy is he, when Autumn falls,
 Who feels the dream-kiss of the Spring;
 And happy he in prison walls
 Who dreams of freedom's rescuing;

 But woe to him who vainly calls
 Through sleepless nights for ease from pain?