The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.
Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids,
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet, while tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.
Thus much for Coleridge. Now for his original:
"Were I a little bird,