Upon the middle of the bed,
Sleeping, he dream'd of hoarded gold;
Sovereigns were jingling in his head,
And in his ken was wealth untold.
But when he woke, no hope of change,
In silver or in circumstance,
Before his sorrowing eyes did dance;
He thought that it was very strange—
But only said, "My life is dreary,
I'll go to sleep," he said;