The Dream -by John Donne

Dear love for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason much too strong for fantasy.

Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok’st not but continued’st it.

Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths and fables histories;
Enter these arms for since thou thought’st it best
Not to dream all my dream let ‘s act the rest.

As lightning or a taper’s light
Thine eyes and not thy noise waked me;
Yet I thought thee
For thou lov’st truth an angel at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart
And knew’st my thoughts beyond an angel’s art
When thou knew’st what I dreamt when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me and cam’st then
I must confess it could not choose but be
Profane to think thee anything but thee.

Coming and staying show’d thee thee
But rising makes me doubt that now
Thou art not thou.

That Love is weak where Fear ‘s as strong as he;
‘Tis not all spirit pure and brave
If mixture it of Fear Shame Honour have.

Perchance as torches which must ready be
Men light and put out so thou deal’st with me.

Thou cam’st to kindle go’st to come: then I
Will dream that hope again but else would die.

John Donne
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