SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL

If I had but two little wings,

　And were a little feathery bird,

　　To you I'd fly, my dear!

But thoughts like these are idle things,

　　　And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:

　I'm always with you in my sleep!

　　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.

April 23, 1799