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The Awaking.
117
THE AWAKING.
III. 42.
Ye dreams, ye dreams,
Where is your sweetness?
Where thou, where thou
joy of night?
Disappeared has it,
The joyous dream;
And solitary
In darkness deep
I awaken.
Round my bed
Is silent night.
At once are cooled,
At once are fled,
All in a crowd
The dreams of Love—
Still with longing
The soul is filled
And grasps of sleep
The memory.
О Love, О Love,
О hear my prayer:
