Sweet Dreams!—down Lethe's billow they depart—
Words are too weak to clothe them worthily.
Rich incense, burnt upon some altar stone
Censerless,—in a temple—desert—lone!
What shall we do in these delightful days,
When the full, bounding heart, will not be still;—
When the glad eye, absorbed in far-sent gaze,
Forgets Earth's plenitude of grief and ill;—
Shall we dream on, in a bewitching maze
Of sweet affections and bold hopes, until