Perchance to me thine also wanders;
This for myself at least I’ll say:
Thy form appears through night, through day.
Awake, with it, my fancy teems;
In sleep it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora’s ray
For breaking slumbers of delight,
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since—oh, whate’er my future fate,