Albanio

Is it a dream? or do I surely clasp Her gentle hand, that answers grasp for grasp? 'Tis mockery all! how madly I believed The flatterer sleep, and how am I deceived! On swift wings rustling through the ivory door, The vision flies, and leaves me as before, Stretched lonely here; is't not enough, I bear This grievous weight, the living soul's despair; Or, to say truly, this uncertain strife, And daily death of oft-renewing life!