Collected Poems of Henry Derozio: Preface by Manu Samriti Chander; Edited by Amardeep Singh

My Dream

   "But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
   And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away."

Was it thy spirit came to me 
   To visit me in sleep? 
O that my slumber might have been 
   More lengthened, and more deep! 
Was it a visitant from Heaven 
   That to my pillow came, 
And answered in thine own loved voice, 
   Whene'er I named thy name? 
Not half so sweet the nightingale 
   Unto the rosebud sings, 
As came thy voice of other days, 
   With which my ear still rings. 
It was thine unforgotten form, 
   O Heaven! that I did see: 
Thou wast not changed—-thy large black eye 
   Still beamed on me, on me! 
And there were words that seemed to burn, 
   Words that I may not tell; 
And many a tear that seemed to sear 
   Thy bosom, as it fell. 
And there were smiles of other days, 
   When days were warm and bright; 
They passed like beams of hope away, 
   Or shadows of the night!
O! how my memory loves to cling 
   To aught that breathes of thee! 
E'en on this little dream I dwell 
   With maddening ecstacy. 
But what am I—and where art thou? 
   So bright can visions seem? 
O dreams of bliss are bliss indeed, 
   For bliss is but a dream. 

February, 1827. 

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