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John Donne - The Dream
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Dear love, for nothing less than thee
    Would I have broke this happy dream;
         It was a theme
    For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
    Therefore thou wak`d`st me wisely; yet
    My dream thou brok`st not, but continued`st it.
    Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
    To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
    Enter these arms, for since thou thought`st it best,
   Not to dream all my dream, let`s act the rest.

    As lightning, or a taper`s light,
   Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak`d me;
        Yet I thought thee
   (For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
   But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
   And knew`st my thoughts, beyond an angel`s art,
   When thou knew`st what I dreamt, when thou knew`st when
   Excess of joy would wake me, and cam`st then,
   I must confess, it could not choose but be
   Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

    Coming and staying show`d thee, thee,
   But rising makes me doubt, that now
        Thou art not thou.
   That love is weak where fear`s as strong as he;
   `Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
   If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
   Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
   Men light and put out, so thou deal`st with me;
   Thou cam`st to kindle, goest to come; then I
   Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
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