Am I waking, am I sleeping?
As the first faint dawn comes creeping
Thro' the pane, I am aware
Of an unseen presence hovering,

Round, above, in the dusky air:
A downy bird, with an odorous wing,
That fans my forehead, and sheds perfume,
As sweet as love, as soft as death,

Drowsy-slow through the summer-gloom.
My heart in some dream-rapture saith,
"It is she." Half in a swoon,
I spread my arms in slow delight.

O prolong, prolong the night,
For the nights are short in June!