Classic Poem

Am I sleeping, am I waking?—
Hath my spirit winged her flight
To some pure and blissful region,
Bathed in soft and silvery light?

Am I sleeping, am I waking?—
Whence these sounds that greet my ear?
Come they on the midnight zephyr,
Wafted from some distant sphere?

Minstrel! o'er my wild harp bending,
I would touch its chords for thee;
Yet its tones are but the echo
Of thine own sweet minstrelsy.

Thou hast well deserved the chaplet
Which for thee I proudly twine,
Laurels from Castalia's fountain
Well may grace a brow like thine.