While on my lonely couch I lie, <br />I seldom feel myself alone, <br />For fancy fills my dreaming eye <br />With scenes and pleasures of its own. <br />Then I may cherish at my breast <br />An infant's form beloved and fair, <br />May smile and soothe it into rest <br />With all a Mother's fondest care. <br /> <br />How sweet to feel its helpless form <br />Depending thus on me alone! <br />And while I hold it safe and warm <br />What bliss to think it is my own! <br /> <br />And glances then may meet my eyes <br />That daylight never showed to me; <br />What raptures in my bosom rise, <br />Those earnest looks of love to see, <br /> <br />To feel my hand so kindly prest, <br />To know myself beloved at last, <br />To think my heart has found a rest, <br />My life of solitude is past! <br /> <br />But then to wake and find it flown, <br />The dream of happiness destroyed, <br />To find myself unloved, alone, <br />What tongue can speak the dreary void? <br /> <br />A heart whence warm affections flow, <br />Creator, thou hast given to me, <br />And am I only thus to know <br />How sweet the joys of love would be?<br /><br />Anne Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreams-10/
