Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream

I
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
 And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
 And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.

II
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
 And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
 His future doom which is but to awake.