Bereft, She Thinks She Dreams

I DREAM that the dearest I ever knew Has died and been entombed. I am sure it’s a dream that cannot be true, But I am so overgloomed By its persistence, that I would gladly Have quick death take me, Rather than longer think thus sadly; So wake me, wake me!

It has lasted days, but minute and hour I expect to get aroused And find him as usual in the bower Where we so happily housed. Yet stays this nightmare too appalling, And like a web shakes me, And piteously I keep on calling, And no one wakes me!