1   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. 2   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! 3   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! 4   Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow,      Nor deem me to happy in this;   If I sin in my dream, I atone it for now,      Thus doom’d, but to gaze upon bliss. 5   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.