A Dream
I had a dream one winter's night,It filled my soul with pure delight;Ne'er ran my tho'ts in strains so sweet,I'm filled with rapture to repeat.
Oh could I dream that dream again,'Twould be a song, a sweet refrain;Oh could I wake to find it true,'Twould then my happy tho'ts renew.
Dreams, sweet dreams of the past,Which o'er our lives bright shadows cast;Yet, sometimes in their course they change,And pleasure clouds they disarrange.
What disappointments we do meet,In dreaming dreams, yea, dreams so sweet;Joy and happiness flow in streams,—We wake to find it but a dream.
What is this mysterious wayIn which we think we spend a day,Awakening ourselves amid delightFinding out 'tis not day but night.
'Tis a fancy which o'er us does creep,When in that state of rest called sleep,The light of imagination which does beamAnd form what we always term a dream.
A dream is a miniature life,Often lived in a single night;When pleasant, this tho't oft does gleam,Oh could we live just as we dream.