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!