BEREFT, SHE THINKS SHE DREAMS

I dream that the dearest I ever knew

Has died and been entombed.

I am sure it's a dream that cannot be true,

But I am so overgloomed

By its persistence, that I would gladly

Have quick death take me,

Rather than longer think thus sadly;

So wake me, wake me!

It has lasted days, but minute and hour

I expect to get aroused

And find him as usual in the bower

Where we so happily housed.

Yet stays this nightmare too appalling,

And like a web shakes me,

And piteously I keep on calling,

And no one wakes me!