'A little more sleep, a little more slumber,
A little more folding the hands to sleep,'
For quick-footed dreams, without order or number,
Over my mind are beginning to creep,--
Rare is the happiness thus to be raptured
By your wild whispers, my Fanciful train,
And, like a linnet, be carelessly captured
In the soft nets of my beautiful brain.

Touch not these curtains!-- your hand will be tearing
Delicate tissues of thoughts and of things;--
Call me not!-- your cruel voice will be scaring
Flocks of your visions on gossamer wings:
Leave me, O leave me! for in your rude presence
Nothing of all my bright world can remain,--
Thou art a blight to this garden of pleasance,
Thou art a blot on my beautiful brain!

Cease your dull lectures on cares and employment,
Let me forget awhile trouble and strife,
Leave me to peace,-- let me husband enjoyment,
This is the heart and the marrow of life!
For to my feeling the choicest of pleasures
Is to lie thus, without peril or pain,
Lazily listening the musical measures
Of the sweet voice in my beautiful brain!

Hush,-- for the halo of calmness is spreading
Over my spirit as mild as a dove;
Hush,-- for the angel of comfort is shedding
Over my body his vial of love;
Hush;-- for new slumbers are over me stealing,
Thus would I court them again and again,
Hush,-- for my heart is intoxicate,-- reeling
In the swift waltz of my beautiful brain!