Dreamland

When the Bear athwart was lying

And the night was just on dying,

And the moon was all but gone,

How my thoughts did ramble on!

Then a sound of music breaks

From a lute that some one wakes,

And I know that it is she,

The sweet maid next door to me.

And as the strains steal o'er me

Her moth-eyebrows rise before me,

And I feel a gentle thrill

That her fingers must be chill.

But doors and locks between us

So effectually screen us

That I hasten from the street

And in dreamland pray to meet.