Sometimes I see, in dreams astray from sleep,
The blessed vision of a better lot
Than such as we, poor souls, by God forgot,
Can hope to find on land or stormy deep.
Our chains are broken; what we loathe is not;
And what we cherish is our own to keep,
Not felon-like, as skulking thieves who creep
With pilfered treasures round a dangerous spot;
But boldly in the sight of smiling earth,
And of the calm, approving powers above,
We bear the fee of tried and granted worth.
And somehow, Sweet--but here the shadows move,
Confuse my dream, recall my care and dearth--
Somehow the whole is guerdon for our love.