Classic Poem

I dreamt of the child of a mighty king,
All wan with weeping and pining;
We sate 'neath the lime-trees green with spring,
In each other's arms reclining.

“I covet not thy father's throne,
Nor his sceptre jewel-laden;
I covet not his diamond crown;
I want but thee, sweet maiden.”

And she replied: “That may not be,
For in the grave I lie;
Only by night I come to thee,
Because love cannot die.”