Classic Poem

When to my lone soft bed at eve returning
Sweet desir'd sleep already stealeth o'er me,
My spirit flieth to the fairy-land of her tyrannous love.

Him then I think fondly to kiss, to hold him
Frankly then to my bosom; I that all day
Have looked for him suffering, repining, yea many long days.

O bless'd sleep, with flatteries beguile me;
So, if I n'er may of a surety have him,
Grant to my poor soul amorous the dark gift of this illusion.