AH, do not wake, if sleeping be so dear,
My torch of sorrow on your dream shall shine
As moonlight, when the darkening cloud is near,
More surely for a moment that is mine:
In your still dream my paling beauty shows
As dimly as a dying love that knows
The love it longs for colder than the snows,
And barren as the waste where it must pine.
But let my wandering passion find a fold
Within the spacious meadows of your sleep,
Let its sharp cry that dies not nor grows old,
Break through the walls of silence that you keep:
The loneliness of noon and summer-end,
Of prayers that tired lips no more may spend,
Oh let it stretch about you while I send
My cry into your dream that is so deep.