I ALWAYS seem to love you in my dreams
Of force, and right, and nature, full and free;
Sleep after sleep, the very self of me
Lost in the nearest of your spirit seems.
Yet, as the grey of real daylight streams
Across the bright deep of my passion's sea,
There crawls a chill, a cloud up lingeringly
To sap the glow from night's divinest gleams.

Which take for truth? Why are you ever twain?
Awake, my intellect's serenest friend;
Asleep, my being's sovereign, meaning, end,--
My heart's desire, delight, possession, pain?
Ah! might I, dreaming, drive my love away;
Or better, wake to find I love by day.