If I could frame for you in cunning words <br />The songs my heart in sleep is often singing, <br />You'd fancy, love, an orquestra of birds <br />Upon their quivering throats the dawn were bringing. <br /> <br />Now in some wild, weird flush of melody <br />I'd feign the skylark, with his music sifting <br />The final films of nightshade from the lea, <br />And all the waking world to heaven uplifting. <br /> <br />Then, ere the lengthening liquid solo went-- <br />In skylark fashion--out of hearing o'er us, <br />I'd mock with skill, as sweet as my intent, <br />Thrustle and blackbird coming in for chorus. <br /> <br />There's not a strain of joy the birds could sing, <br />I could not set to words that I've been dreaming; <br />But when I wake, alas! they all take wing, <br />And leave of music but the empty seeming. <br /> <br />Believe me, love, I sing to you, in sleep, <br />Songs that if voiced would waken you to pleasure; <br />Would you could hear them in your dreams, and keep <br />Their inner meaning, though you missed the measure.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/songs-in-sleep/
