So sweet looks that face while I sing,
To reason no longer I’m free.
I forget thou art queen of the land—
’Tis thy beauty alone that I see:
And, trembling at touch of thy hand,
All else is forgotten by me!
“‘The spell is upon me in sleep,
In the region of dreams thou art mine!
I wake—but, ah! ’tis to weep,
And the hope of my slumbers resign.