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.