XLIV

I cannot tell what cause dissolved my dream,
As it has done a thousand dreams ere now--
Dreams of thy tender eyes and pitying brow;
Full of that sorrow which doth more than seem
The fatal issue of our faithful vow,
When daylight strikes its disenchanting beam
Into our quailing eyes, and we esteem
At its true worth the fate to which we bow.
But this I know, that day brings no relief
From the sweet torture of my love to me,
Nor moves the pulses of my heavy grief
To make sad time run on more merrily;
For I awake from dreams--alas, too brief!--
Only to face my countless thoughts of thee.