Oh, wake me not, my sisters dear,
Nor call me when I sleep,
And if no more I waken here,
I pray you not to weep.
For oh! I have such happy dreams,
So fraught with joy and love!
<<176>>For to another world it seems
I nightly do remove.
So tranquilly, so silently,
I join that world of bliss,
That, were it not for so much joy,
I still might think it this.
I hear no voice, no single sound
Is borne upon the air,
But love and kindness all around,
Seem breathing everywhere.
They gently come and take my hand
To clasp within their own;
They are not here, that shadowy band—
I wake—and they are flown.
I think that spirits when we sleep
Are watching from above,
And if they thus their vigils keep,
Their watchword must be love.
Oh, surely on the midnight wind
Pure spirits must be borne,
To pour down joy upon the mind,
Which vanishes with morn.
They are not words, or looks, or tones,
Which sink into my soul,
Yet, when I wake my spirit moans
To reach that happy goal.
There seems a sense of thrilling bliss,
Unearthly and refined,
A mingling of that world with this,
All heart—all soul—all mind!
Even the summer flowers I love
Are placed within my hand,
And calmly, silently, I rove
About that blessed land.
<<177>>
Then wake me not, my sisters dear,
Whene’er I sleep again:
My waking hours are cold and drear—
In sleep I know not pain.
